TWC: Trials of the Plum Queen
by PerfectDisaster22
Summary: Regina is finally ruling as Queen of Crims- until a coup is thrown by a Prince who has more right to her throne than she does. When Underland decrees that the royal rivals must fight for the throne, what begins is a war for a crown, a future, a destiny, and a heart.
1. Tangled Thoughts and Tangoes

**Warning**: This is part three of a quadrilogy. If you haven't read the first two books, you might want to do that first. Book One is _Search for the Azure Princess_; Book Two is _Rescue from the Outlands_. If you haven't read them or don't remember them, please read those first, or none of this is going to make any sense.

**Author's Note**: Welcome, my dear readers, to Book Three! As I've mentioned before, this was originally supposed to be the last book in this series, but the plot just got too dense and complicated to wrap up in twelve chapters. So the final book got split in half, and here now is Part One.

As I've said from the beginning of Book One, I apologize profusely for any character mangling that occurs within this story that is due to my own misunderstandings, failure to research, or ignorance. Character mangling— phsyical or emotional— that occurs due to the plot [there is quite a lot of both in this Book], I make no apologies for. Though I do promise that by the end of the story, I will have fixed everything I've broken during the series… except for the character deaths, I can't really do anything about those. Enjoy!

**Original Character Face Claims**: Just to refresh your memory, since there are an awful lot of OC's now.

Regina Hightopp is portrayed by Evanna Lynch [with reddish-gold curls and green eyes].  
Dafydd Hightopp is portrayed by Kellan Lutz [a la the Twilight series, and blue eyes].  
Princess Lily Palladia of Marmoreal is portrayed by Zooey Deschanel.  
Princess Nerissa of Marmoreal is portrayed by Dakota Fanning [with short white curls].  
King Kalen of Marmoreal is portrayed by Patrick Dempsey [with a black beard].  
Ioan Hightopp is portrayed by Rufus Sewell.  
Rhys Hightopp is portrayed by Steven Strait.  
Gregan Hightopp is portrayed by Jake Lloyd.  
Gwynyth Hightopp is portrayed by Helen Mirren.  
Rhonwen Hightopp is portrayed by Maggie Smith.  
Countess Mary Contrary is portrayed by Emma Stone.  
Baron Vulpez is portrayed by Richard Roxburgh.  
Duke Blancmilque is portrayed by John Cleese [a la the Harry Potter movies].  
Afanen Hightopp is portrayed by Nikki Reed.  
Chase Hart is portrayed by Philip Winchester.

**Overall Disclaimer**: This should be pretty obvious, so I'm only going to say it once [any disclaimers in future chapters will cover specific details]. If you recognize it, I don't own it. This refers to material from any of the Disney movies, any books or fanfictions, or the SyFy Alice miniseries. Everything except my own characters is owned by Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton, the Disney Corporation, and SyFy. If you think you've seen it in another fanfic, I truly do apologize; I don't mean to plagiarize any other author's idea, and if I did it was purely unintentional and coincidental. However, if you do know of stories with similar ideas, please tell me so I can give credit.

**Name Disclaimer**: Yes, I stole the name Abraxas from the Potterverse [for the uninitiated- or worse yet, the Gryffindors- Abraxas is Lucius Malfoy's middle name]. I did it pretty much because I thought the name was badass; there's no ulterior motive besides that. The name "Chardym" is a conglomerate from Charles [Alice's father] and Wendym [Tarrant's father].

The names Reynard and Vulpez both mean fox.

**Images**: Remove all spaces.

Regina's Carriage [imagine a white background on the coach, not gold, and it's open-top]: upload. wikimedia wikipedia/ commons/ thumb/ f/ f8/ Royal_ carriage_ livrustkammaren_ museum_ stockholm. jpg/ 800px-Royal_ carriage_ livrustkammaren_ museum_ stockholm. jpg  
Regina's Traveling Dress [imagine purple instead of red]: www. roxx-online roxxOnline/ images/ productPhotos/ plus % 20size % 20available % 20deep % 20red % 20hooded % 20medieva l% 20dress % 201951. JPG

* * *

The cave, while not especially deep, was exceptionally large in both breadth and height. The walls were covered with a phosphorescent material that glowed bluish-green, filtering an eerie light through the entire cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites ringed the cave, glittering with water and salt crystals. In the center of the cavern was a single stalagmite, its top worn smooth. Floating above the stalagmite was a faint, shimmering ripple, almost like an opening in a curtain.

Since the time of the Beginning, the Cave of Contingency had been the haven of the Cheshire Cats, Guardians of Underland and Keepers of Time. Here resided the solitary Doorway through which one could peek to see Time Himself. Here was where the Keepers of Time had spent lifetimes plotting and planning with the Keepers of Fate to guide and protect and direct Underland.

The current Keeper of Time sat on the stalagmite in the center of the room, peering intently through the Veil and observing all the threads that had or would or were or might come together. The former Cheshire Cat had often bemoaned the frequency with which his then protégé had looked through the Veil; they had never seen eye to eye on just how close a watch a Cheshire should be keeping on Time. But never mind, the Cheshire thought to herself impatiently; it was too late to mend her ways now. She had decided what kind of Guardian she would be, and there was nothing left but to follow through.

The expression on the Cheshire's face as she watched the possibilities and probabilities wasn't particularly pleased; as a matter of fact, she looked decidedly unhappy.

"Already?" she mewed, distressed. "But… I haven't had enough Time… Isn't there any way you could delay this? Just a little while longer?"

Judging by the images that flashed past the Cheshire's eyes, the answer was a resounding no. Scowling, she gracefully leapt off the stalagmite, disappearing in a cloud of smoke just before she hit the floor. She reappeared several feet away, and paced back and forth as she muttered to herself, making plans and discarding them just as quickly.

Well… brimini. She had been trying so very hard to prevent His arrival, or at least to delay it. His coming heralded change, and while she wasn't opposed to change per say, she did very much object to anything that threatened to upset or unmake the plans she had spent so long bringing to fruition. And she was close, so very close to ensuring her little Queen's happiness… But if He were to show up too early, before the Butterfly and the Carpenter were ready for Him, everything could be unmade and undone in an instant.

But there was nothing for it. Her options were extremely limited; preventing His return to Underland was apparently not going to happen. He was coming, and He was going to change everything, and she could only hope that her little Queen was ready for it.

Oh, but it would break her heart, if anything should go wrong…

"Please don't ruin everything," she whispered, closing her eyes and clinging to Hope.

A moment later, the Cave of Contingency was empty. After all, it was by Witzend's actions that He would be brought into Underland, and she couldn't delay any longer. All she could do was set everything in motion, and pray that by doing so, she wasn't allowing everything to unravel.

* * *

_One Year Later_—

The entourage that emerged from the gates of Isla Affalin, the royal palace of the queendom of Crims, was a rowdy bunch, comprised of a single open-top carriage surrounded by a dozen men on horseback. The carriage was white, edged in elaborate gold scroll work. On each door was emblazoned the royal standard of Crims— a white hand, stylized to look like a tree bearing golden apples, topped by five golden butterflies. The men that rode surrounding the carriage each bore the same standard on the front of their tunics. The men were the Fearail, the personal guard of the Plum Queen of Crims, and within the carriage rested the Queen herself.

Her Majesty the Queen, usually known as twenty (or was it twenty-five? She could never quite make up her mind which method counted)-year-old Regina Miraget Hightopp Praecordia, was Not Amused. As a matter of fact, she was Most Seriously Displeased. Granted, this wasn't anything new. She spent at least two days a week being Most Assuredly Annoyed. But it was a beautiful spring afternoon, she was finally free and in the company of her clansmen and her dearest friend, and she didn't want to suffer from her Bad Mood any longer. Crims had already suffered long enough under one bad-tempered Queen; no need to make it a tradition.

"Cheer up, Gigi," her traveling companion cajoled. "Stop glaring out at the road, I can't believe it to be so very fair. Look out the other side, the scenery over there is just as attractive and rather more diverting."

Regina smiled faintly, focusing her attention on her friend. Tall, shapely and red-headed, Mary Contrary had quickly become Regina's closest friend at Court. The outspoken Countess had been the daughter of one of the many nobles Iracebeth had ordered beheaded over the years. Regina had quickly been taken by Mary's sharp mind and peculiar sense of humor, and had appointed her the Mistress of the Household. As such, Countess Contrary was a frequent companion on Regina's travels.

"More fair to some," Regina replied, an impish grin crossing her face despite herself as she glanced at her clansman Rhys, who rode on the other side of the carriage, just in Mary's line of vision. "But not so commanding, I think," she added, glancing back to her side of the carriage.

The 'view' Mary and Regina were discussing so candidly rolled his eyes in sardonic amusement. Twenty-five-year-old Dafydd Hightopp had served as Regina's captain of the guard for nearly three years; he had made his formal Champion's Vow to her the day she underwent her Queenmaking. Since that momentous Day, they had hardly ever been apart. He shadowed her every step, silently propping up the walls as she worked, his sapphire eyes missing no detail of her day. He even slept in a bed perpendicular to hers— though Court gossip was adamant that he _shared_ her bed.

Dafydd's protection of Regina was rather more thorough than was usual, but that was due to the fact that Regina had taken the White Vow, swearing to harm none. She had chosen the White Path after having killed two men as a Princess— Ilosovic Stayne and Dafydd's cousin, Taran. The Vow had eased Regina's mind, but it meant that even if Regina were to be attacked, she could not raise a hand in her own defense. It thus fell to Dafydd to assure Regina's safety, a duty that he took incredibly seriously.

Regina had felt wretchedly guilty, asking Dafydd to take such a strident Champion's Vow, but he had been happy to shoulder the responsibility. It had after all been Regina who had claimed the Fearail as her own after Stayne's unsuccessful bid to topple Marmoreal; Regina who had given them sanctuary in her own kingdom, given them a purpose. If not for her actions, Dafydd and his men would have been executed on the battlefield as traitors to Underland, or at the very least banished back to their native Outlands. Now, thanks to her, not only did the Fearail have a home, but their clan— formerly the Nazari, a nomadic people of the Outlands— had been reinstated to their ancestral clan, the Hightopps of Tearmunn. She had given them a family and a future, and in return they guarded her with their lives.

The Fearail and their beloved Queen were currently en route to Witzend, the Queen's homeland. Regina's parents, the Blue Royals, still ruled from the capital city of Berserka. Once a week, the Sapphire King would host a Tea Party in the gardens of the Cerulean Castle, and every week the former Azure Princess would be in attendance.

The traveling party was jovial as they traversed the well-known route from Isla Affalin to Berserka, by use of the Via Abalonia, which had been built by the joint effort of Regina and her mother, Queen Alice. The road was well populated by merchants and travelers, and patrolled by the Hearts, the Crimsian army which was commanded by Dafydd. So the Fearail were relaxed as they traveled; laughing, teasing, and racing each other in an attempt to cheer their queen up.

Regina appreciated their efforts, but she feared that she was beyond their help today. Normally, the weekly trek home would find Regina in riding breeches and a tunic, astride her white Panther Sora, racing Dafydd all the way back to Berserka. However, when she'd completed the day's meetings at luncheon, she had felt the telltale throbbing behind her eyes that foretold a terrible headache— and, if it wasn't dealt with quickly, a Fit of Madness. When she got this fractious, even Dafydd couldn't coax her into a better mood; the only cure they'd ever found was a cup or five of tea, carefully created and brewed by the Mad Hatter. It was good fortune that today was a Tea Party day.

Dafydd hadn't been expecting the Countess to come along with them. Typically when Regina traveled home, she left Mary in charge of arranging her meetings and paperwork for that evening, after she returned. However, when he'd raised an eyebrow in question, Mary had given him a Look.

"You may be too afraid of her glaring to try to calm her down, but I find her quite fun when she's this snappish," Mary had replied.

He'd rolled his eyes at her, but he hadn't argued. Mary had a talent for easing Regina's temper, and if Regina wanted her nearby then Dafydd wouldn't remove her.

And indeed, by the time they approached the cobalt gates of the Cerulean Castle, Regina did look like she was in a much better mood. Dafydd drew his Stallion Arturias closer to the castle, catching Regina's attention and pointing towards the stairs.

"Brax is waiting for you."

As he'd thought, his statement had an immediate, positive effect upon the young queen. She stood in the carriage as a smile slowly grew on her face, waving to the little boy who was cradled in his nursemaid's arms.

"Brax" was properly His Royal Highness Abraxas Chardym Hightopp Clava, the Sky Prince of Witzend. The six-month-old Crown Prince was the darling of the family, and the apple of his elder sister's eye. It was mostly to see Brax that Regina traveled home every week. When she was growing up in the Aboveground, she had often wished for a sibling; now that she had one, she certainly wasn't about to miss his Aging simply because she was the Queen of the next country over.

Regina leapt out of the carriage before it had properly stopped, and bounded up the stairs, impatiently pulling the skirts of her purple and gold dress out of her way as she pushed back her hood. At the sight of his sister, Brax squealed, wriggling in his nursemaid's arms and reaching for her. Grinning, Regina took him, rubbing noses with the child and smothering him with kisses as he attempted to Futterwhacken in her arms.

And thus began Dafydd's weekly dose of torture.

He was happy, for Regina's sake, that Alice and Tarrant had reconciled. Regina had spent her entire life longing for her family, and it had been a nasty shock for her, upon her return home, to find that her parents had spent the eighteen years of her exile separated. Even after she had come home and reclaimed her birthright as the Azure Princess, her parents hadn't reconciled until Regina was kidnapped on the order of Dafydd's brother Niall. But after that disastrous misadventure, the Hightopps had stitched themselves back together and become the family that Regina had always wanted. Their happiness had only increased with the addition of Abraxas to their family. Regina had the family that she'd spent her entire life dreaming of, and Dafydd was happy for her. Truly.

But every time he saw her cuddling Brax, the same dreams and longings would return, stunning him in their intensity. He longed to see a different babe in her arms— his. Theirs. He wanted Regina's brilliant smile to be caused by their bairn; her happiness to be his own doing.

He knew full well, though, that his dreams were impossible. Yes, he was a Hightopp, a Champion, the Ace of Hearts, and a landed Duke… But who had given that to him? Everything he had, Regina had granted to him. He owned nothing of his own; he was utterly dependent upon her for his entire life, including the fact that he still lived and breathed. Even if she weren't his Queen, she was still the daughter of his clan laird. She was, in all ways, forbidden fruit.

And apart from all of that, he had sabotaged his chances with her in the Outlands. He had gone Mad, when he thought that she was dead. Even when he found her on the battlefield, it hadn't broken through his Madness. He had yelled at her, told her that he hated her and resented being in her service. It had completely and utterly shattered her faith in him, and he had very nearly lost her. In the ensuing year and a half since that Day, he had done everything in his power to make it up to her, to win back her trust. Her trust he might have, but he knew better than to hope that her heart would ever be his.

Every single night, he had lain at the foot of Regina's bed, staring into the darkness as her peaceful breathing filled his ears, driving himself Mad with the need to hold her, to tell her exactly what he felt for her… but knowing that he could never tell her. There was no way someone like her could ever love someone like him; it was foolish to hope. Moreover, he didn't deserve her. He had broken Regina's heart that day, when he rejected her and said such hurtful things to her. If he couldn't take care with her heart, if it was so easy for him to break it, how could he possibly hope to deserve her, to care for her?

Of course, his heart absolutely refused to listen to his head. It stubbornly and whole-heartedly pined for her, dreaming impossible dreams and torturing him ceaselessly. He might be strong, but he was powerless against himself. So he watched her, and he wanted, and he waited.

Lately, it wasn't just during the wee smalls that he'd wrestled with himself, choking on the words he longed to say, his arms shaking with the effort it took not to grab her and hold on. These needs plagued him day and night, surprising him at all hours, growing stronger all the time. How long before he lost this battle with himself? How long before he reached for what he knew he couldn't have, and consequently lost her again?

Regina, of course, was oblivious to his resigned pain; she walked into the castle ahead of him, blithely bouncing the baby on her hip. Dafydd let her precede him, turning to discharge his men.

"Go stable the Horses," he told the Deuces. "Then spend the afternoon relaxing. I'll send pages for you when it's time to go."  
"Aye, we'll do that," Dafydd's second, Rhys, grinned. "Enjoy Gigi's company for us."

Dafydd rolled his eyes as Rhys punched him in the shoulder. All the Fearail were perfectly well aware of how Dafydd felt for Regina. After all, they had all grown up together, trained together, fought battles together. They could read each others' every emotion, every inflection of voice and every nuance of expression. Dafydd had insisted upon that level of closeness; the better they could read each other, the better they could fight together as a unit. But dear Fates, it was inconvenient when all his clansmen knew he'd lost his heart to the Queen of Hearts. Several of them had taken to constantly flirting with Regina, just to irritate their kinsman and commander. It was probably a good thing that Dafydd's cousin and former second Ioan had left Crims and gone to Marmoreal to be with his lady love; otherwise, he would have done his utmost to make Dafydd miserable.

Hoping to distract himself from his thoughts— after all, this was one Impossible Thing that was truly Impossible— he returned his attention to Regina as she deftly maneuvered through the castle, Mary following along in her wake. She wasn't walking so much as dancing with Brax, humming a cheerful, lilting version of the Song of the Hightopps. Brax was grinning wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat, gurgling along with her and kicking his ghillie-covered feet.

"Ah, ma taavi," Regina cooed, smiling and rubbing noses with him. "You like the Song, mo farquhar?"

Brax giggled, apparently agreeing both to Regina's question and the Outlandish endearments that fell so easily from her lips. Behind them, Dafydd shivered; ma taavi especially was a sacred term of endearment among their people. Hearing such loving words from her lips… apparently his torture was to be heightened today.

Entirely oblivious to the bittersweet torture she was putting him through, Regina led Mary and Dafydd into the gardens. They were early; Regina hated being late for tea. Queen Alice had not yet emerged from her study, where she was sure to be elbow-deep in paperwork. Lady Knight Mallymkun was curled within a teacup, fast asleep. Sir Thackery Earwicket was bouncing around the table, rearranging the plates of delicacies— because of course the squimberry tarts couldn't rest besides the lindenmuth cakes, they didn't get along! No, not since the Tumtum Trees had danced with the Lobsters at the Codfish Ball…

Mary and Regina flitted ahead as Dafydd moved silently, taking up his preferred post in the shadowy northeast corner. From here, he would be unobtrusive to the Tea Party guests, but only steps from Regina should the need arise to protect her. Letting her Champion get on with his job, Regina gracefully dropped into her armchair, bouncing her brother on her knee as her athair smiled at the pair of them.

"Hello, my Sugar Cube!" His Majesty Tarrant Hightopp, Sapphire King of Witzend and Laird of Tearmunn, greeted her, leaning over to kiss her cheek as he turned the teapot three-quarters clockwise. "How did you leave Crims?"

"By carriage, as quickly as possible," Regina said absently, leaning in to blow raspberries against Brax's neck. "I escaped again, yes I did!" she informed her brother as he pulled off his little shoes. "Just like your little feet are trying to escape their ghillies! Naughty wee piggy toes, they are!"  
"Countess," Tarrant greeted Mary.  
"I informed Gigi that she was kidnapping me and forcing me to drink tea until I float away," Mary informed Tarrant. "I promised to be very difficult about it."  
"I would expect nothing less from you, Mary," Tarrant smiled.

Mary smiled brightly as Tarrant fixed her a cuppa, then turned her attention to Alice's lady in waiting Marchioness Gwen. Within moments, the two were engrossed in a serious and spirited debate about Flowers, a topic about which they were both very knowledgeable and passionate.

"Th' wee besom needs 'er tea, 'Atter!" the March Hare declared, bouncing up to Regina and peering at her withdrawn face. "She's as fractious as Auld Father William!"  
"I'm afraid you may be right, March," Tarrant nodded. "Though at the moment she seems rather preoccupied with nibbling her brother."  
"I can't help it that he tastes so good," she stated, tickling Brax's bare feet.  
"Oh, absolutely, Sugar Cube," Tarrant nodded complacently. "Our little Buttered Scone is quite edible."

So saying, he plucked his infant son from Regina's lap, holding him close to tickle the baby with his wild eyebrows. Abraxas giggled, delighted, and grabbed fistfuls of his da's wild hair, yanking it imperiously.

"Ooh!" Tarrant winced in pain, deftly untwining his son's greedy fingers from his mane. "That is not flax for pulling, young master," he said firmly. "That is hair for embellishing Hats. If you must pull on something, use that," he added, whipping out a tangle of ribbons and handing them to Brax.  
"Rhymes, Da," Regina commented as Brax squealed and intently focused on the ribbons, wriggling in glee as his clever fingers began working on the knots.  
"He's awfully giddy today," Mary observed.  
"It's the proper Age for him to be trying Moods on for size and finding those that fit," Tarrant smiled, bouncing Brax on his knee. "Regina did the same."  
"What Moods did I favor?" Regina asked, smiling.  
"Whimsy," stated a voice behind them. "Just like your father."

Regina, Tarrant and Mary looked up to witness the entrance of the Blue Queen of Witzend. Alice Kingsleigh had been renowned throughout Underland for her exploits as the White Queen's Champion; she was no less famous now as Queen of the Clubs. Whether acting as Queen of Witzend or as Lady of the Hightopp clan, Alice Hightopp Clava was a formidable woman, and not to be crossed.

Yet little of her famous determination was evident as Queen Alice descended into the garden and took her seat on Tarrant's right side. Mostly, she just looked tired— _muzzy_, as Tarrant would put it. Her brown eyes were bleary, and her shoulders looked tired. Clearly, Alice had been hard at work again.

In the two and a half years since Regina's return to Underland, Alice had been working day and night to rebuild Witzend. The reconstruction was due in part to Alice's self-imposed eighteen-year exile, which she'd entered into after Regina's disappearance from Witzend as an infant. For eighteen long years the kingdom had fallen into disarray while Tarrant waited for their daughter at a Tea Party and the so-called Black Queen silently kept to the shadows of Marmoreal. Alice was striving to correct the damage she'd caused by her long absence from the throne, and going about it with her characteristic single-minded focus, discounting any detriment to her own well-being in her desire to set Witzend to rights.

Regina knew that Tarrant feared the amount of effort Alice was putting into the queendom's reconstruction. She only had so much Time left, and less of it than ever after Brax's birth. Because Tarrant was frozen in Time, he and Alice had been unable to have children unless Alice gave her Time to their babies. Having done it twice now, Alice's Days were numbered. Even though Alice maintained that she still had plenty of Time left, the fact remained that her lifespan was now going to be significantly shorter than it should have been, and they were going to lose her long before they were ready to. Tarrant always watched his beloved wife now, terrified that if he didn't carefully monitor and ration her Time, it would all be spent without him, and he would lose precious Moments that would have to sustain him through however long he had to endure without her before Time decided it had had enough of him and released him to Death.

"You look as though you're in need of some very strong tea, my Teacup," Tarrant said, gently depositing Brax in Alice's arms.  
"I am at that," Alice nodded, burying her face in Brax's hair as he played with her fingers. "You lovely, happy little Humpty Dumpty," she cooed, rocking them gently.  
"What's been the catastrophe today, Mama?" Regina asked as she deftly began mixing dried leaves and berries together into an appropriate tea. "Momerath overpopulation, Snud arguing about the wool import tax again, Da running out of hat ribbons?"

Despite her weariness, Alice smiled as Regina handed her a cuppa. The reunion between mother and daughter had been by no means easy. Relations between Alice and Regina had been strained for the longest time; Regina had held a grudge against Alice for abandoning her in the Aboveground as an infant, and Alice had been so paralyzed by her guilt that she had unintentionally pushed her daughter further away. It wasn't until Alice had gone to the Outlands to rescue Regina after her kidnapping that they had begun to repair their relationship.

"Worse," Alice sighed. "The Beavers have walked off the job, again."

Tarrant and Regina winced in sympathy. Since returning to her throne, Alice's pet project had been building Witzend a port city, in order to encourage trade with the Oversea Nations. From the first stage of planning, Alice had had to surmount one obstacle after another. The latest fiasco concerning the Beavers was particularly irritating. They had been hired to build dams to reinforce the cove that Alice had chosen for her harbor, and they had proved to be exceptionally touchy and sensitive creatures, quick to take offense at the least provocation.

"But they can't go on strike," Regina frowned. "The town's opening in two weeks, and then you sail across the Sea."  
"I know," Alice nodded. "And I cannot delay these plans any longer. I want these trade routes established as quickly as possible— by the Hogmanay, ideally, but definitely by Guid Nychburris, so we can expand the Hightopp trade wares."  
"Could you replace the Beavers with someone else? Frogs, perhaps?" Regina suggested.  
"I'm afraid not," Alice shook her head. "The Beavers made the plans for the dam, no one else could possibly follow them. I'll just have to figure out what's gone wrong and fix it. Again."  
"And you, Da?" Regina asked, sniffing at Tarrant's tea before adding a small squeeze of lemon into his cup. "What news from the Brae?"

Before Tarrant spoke, he turned to Alice, who smiled and surrendered Abraxas back to him. Some people in the Aboveground used a talking stick to denote who was allowed to speak; the Blue Royals passed the Sky Prince around. It was a beneficial method, for how could they remain upset about life's stresses when they were cuddling the baby? Also, it was good for the young Crown Prince to pay attention to whoever was holding him; from their laps he would learn diplomacy, commerce, and tradesmanship, three things he would need as either a future King or as the next Laird of Tearmunn.

"We've finished cobbling the marketplace," he happily reported. "And we've expanded the clover fields, so next year we should have quite a stock of honey and beeswax. Madam Gwynyth has been a wonder, I don't know how I ever would have managed without her. I'll be leaving her in direct charge of Tearmunn so I can stay here in Berserka while your mam's gone."

Regina nodded absently, adding a little honey to her tea. With Alice sailing on her Oversea adventure, Tarrant would remain behind to rule Witzend as regent. This was rather an important moment for him; while he had been crowned King beside Alice, he had never ruled in his own right before, never signed bills into laws or made decisions or ruled the kingdom. But now that Alice was leaving, it would be up to Tarrant to maintain the stability of the queendom until Alice's return. Regina wondered how Tarrant felt about that; was he excited to finally use the power his crown had given him? Or was he dreading this? He had been a leader, back in his Resistance days, and he was Laird of the Hightopp clan. But those were, admittedly, relatively small groups to lead; how would he fare ruling the entire country?

"Will you be going to Tearmunn before you return home, Sugar Cube?" Tarrant asked, distracting Regina from her thoughts.  
"Aye," she nodded. "I promised the Fearail a meal of Eilwen's cooking. They get homesick for it," she grinned. "Then Rhys is taking Mary and me home while Dafydd swings south to Annwyn. He wants to check on Briallen and the boys. All of which is fine with me. Anything to avoid being home."

Alice and Tarrant exchanged a concerned glance before Tarrant passed Brax to Regina.

"The Council again?" he asked.

Regina sighed heavily, looking down and concentrating very hard on the patty cake game Brax was playing with her fingers. She could feel their gazes on her, patient and concerned. And not just her mama and da's; Mary's and Dafydd's as well. She had walked— well, more like stomped— out of her castle this afternoon, but she hadn't exactly told her best friend or her Champion what had happened to make her so upset.

"Vulpez tried to force the issue of me marrying again," she finally admitted.  
"What!" Tarrant exclaimed while Mary groaned.

Tarrant's spoon fell from his hand as he sat bolt upright in alarm. Thackery's plaintive cry of 'spoon!' echoed Tarrant's sentiment, though it was unclear whether he was agreeing with Tarrant or worrying about the silver utensil as he scrambled over the table, upsetting platters of cakes and a teapot or two as he snatched up the abused spoon, twitching and cradling it to his chest.

"Aye," Regina said, her displeasure mounting, if her brogue was any indication.  
"But… Bu' yer jist a wee li'l boy!" Tarrant protested.  
"Vulpez doesnae see it 'at way," Regina replied. "Accordin' tae heem, mah greatest priority shoods be givin' Crims a king an' an heir."

Despite his displeasure, Tarrant was hard-pressed to smother his smile when he saw the roses in his daughter's cheeks. He glanced over at Alice; while she wasn't quite as amused as he was, he saw the same memories reflected in her eyes.

Tarrant had never asked Regina how much she remembered about the Battle of the Brae nearly two years ago. She had been rather Mad at the time, and he was well aware that when one was lost within the Madness, events and conversations often weren't remembered afterwords. Did Regina remember the confession she had poured out into Alice's lap, as she lay bleeding and weeping? Did she know that her parents were well aware of where her heart lay?

On second thought, more than likely not. If Regina remembered her feelings, surely she would have acted on them by now? For she couldn't be in doubt that her love was most definitely returned. Tarrant had long been aware of Dafydd's feelings for Regina; he didn't entirely approve, but he knew of them. One would have to be a fool not to notice the spark between them, and Tarrant was no fool. About as subtle as lightning, their attraction was. So why had Dafydd not rushed in and swept Regina off her feet? Especially if this Baron Vulpez was so intent upon seeing Regina wed; the solution was staring everyone in the face! Surely Tarrant and Alice couldn't be the only ones to see it?

"Well that's… You should just dissolve the Council," Alice frowned.  
"It's not the Council that's the problem," Regina shook her head. "Leferidae and Rhonwen are wonderful. It's just Vulpez. I don't even know why he's so insistent on me marrying. There's plenty of time for that, someday."  
"Can you fend him off?" Alice asked.  
Regina raised an eyebrow in an expression that she had quite obviously stolen from Dafydd. "What do you think I've been doing, Mama?"  
"I don't blame you for not wanting to be home," Tarrant frowned. "How utterly unpleasant. I should find such an upset unbearable."  
"U's, Hatter," Alice smiled.  
"Aye, Da," Regina said. "I have the feeling Vulpez has a candidate in mind. If I wanted an arranged marriage, I would've stayed Above," she burst out with sudden vehemence.  
"Well then, Sugar Cube, it appears you must find your own suitor," Tarrant said, proud that he was able to keep from smiling.  
"I could be a virgin Queen, like Elizabeth," Regina said stubbornly.  
Alice rose a skeptical eyebrow. "This from you, little Queen of Sheba? Whose hero is Queen Victoria?"  
"There are precious few Solomons and Alberts in the world, Mama," Regina said, staring down into her teacup.  
"You never know," Tarrant smiled mysteriously. "The things we need in life have an uncanny knack of finding us."

She looked down into her murky tea as her mind meandered. _Oh, M's… a much more mesmerizing letter than U, if I may make my musings known…_

Lately, this issue of a suitor had been unavoidable. Baron Vulpez made references or outright statements about it during every twice-weekly meeting. Her courtiers jockeyed amongst themselves, angling for her favors. Even Lily was teasing her about finding a mate.

She'd always been a romantic child. All through her childhood, she had daydreamed over the stories of Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Justinian and Theodora, John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, Victoria and Albert, Alice and the Hatter. She had dreamed of finding her own true love and living happily ever after.

However, it was quite difficult— impossible, really— to contemplate a happily ever after when her Prince Charming was quite unaware that he had been assigned to such a role.

Oh, Regina had been full of hope for a while. There had been Moments, over the past year and a half, when she had begun to think that maybe, perhaps, someday… After all, Dafydd had moved back into her room, hadn't he? And they had more than once fallen asleep on the couch on her balcony, her curled into his side with his arms wrapped around her, because they were too lazy to go to their proper beds. And there was her Queenmaking ring, of course, and dances and stolen glances and hidden smiles… Could she really be blamed for hoping? But Someday had gotten farther and farther away, until Regina had finally come to suspect that she was only chasing a dream.

The more she thought about it, the more foolish she felt. Dafydd's behavior had never altered; he had never behaved in a manner other than that of Champion to Queen. Of course he was protective and solicitous; that was his job. Of course his eyes were always on her; how else was he supposed to ensure her safety? Anything else, she had clearly fabricated from wishes and dreams and impossibilities. She was quite good at that, inventing stories. It was her anchorage, after all. And what made more sense— that Dafydd had somehow miraculously fallen in love with her, even though in his Madness he had once rejected her? Or that she had created a story in her Madness in an attempt to soothe her bruised heart? No, it was becoming more and more clear to her that she had imagined it all, and she was a fool for chasing a dream.

"Clean cup, clean cup, move doon!"

She cleared her throat, grateful when the March Hare's voice broke into her thoughts and scattered them to the winds. Giggling, Regina took Tarrant's hand as Alice gathered Abraxas in her arms and Mary gravely took Thackery's paw. As they began the Tea Table Tango, Regina laughed giddily, tossing a merry grin over her shoulder. And then…

The look in her Champion's eyes stunned her into silence, freezing her in her tracks, and only her father's grip kept her from stumbling. The look in Dafydd's eyes could only be referred to as _hungry_. It frightened her, burned through her straight to her soul… and utterly thrilled her, filling her with an _ache_ she had become increasingly familiar with over the past year and a half. Oh, blast her heart for rising from the ashes once again and clinging to its impossible hopes…

"Come then, mo laoch," she said, holding one hand out in supplication. "Stop skulking in the shadows and dance with me."  
"Is that an order, dearbadan-de?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"It is," she nodded.  
"Then I am bound to obey," he replied.  
"Lovely!" Tarrant exclaimed.

He leaned close to the table, whispering to the teapots. A moment later they began to whistle, harmonizing and creating a tune as Dafydd spun Regina into his arms and they began to dance. Soon, they were joined by Alice and Brax, Tarrant and Mally, Mary and Marchioness Gwen, and Thackery and his spoon.

"You'll protect me from this marriage nonsense, won't you?" Regina sighed, resting her forehead on Dafydd's shoulder.  
"To the death," he promised, drawing her in as though his embrace could protect her.

* * *

Most days, Dafydd forgot that due to his station as Ace of Hearts and Queen's Champion, he had an office.

This lapse in memory was understandable when you considered the fact that Dafydd spent most of his time, waking or sleeping, in Regina's presence. Wherever she was, he wasn't far behind, claymore always in easy reach. When he had business to handle— paperwork involving his army, or letters from his sister-in-law Briallen regarding his estate— he did so in whatever room Regina was in. That usually worked out well, since his paperwork would come in while she was in her study, and it was easy enough to sit down at her tea table and get everything taken care of.

But every once in a while, he would remember his office, and he would slip away for brief respites, time alone to think, to wrestle himself back into calm.

Today had been trying. Well, not the morning, that had been alright. But from the instant Regina emerged from her Council meeting, things had begun to go downhill, and Dafydd didn't approve in the slightest.

The idea of Regina being forced to marry… He gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He'd been fearing this discussion since the moment Zhithene, Keeper of the Oraculum, had revealed that Regina would give birth to a son. He'd spent a year and a half steeling himself against the day when Regina would lose her heart to the mysterious Lionheart. The fact that Vulpez was pushing her so hard to find a husband only reminded Dafydd that his Days with her were numbered; very soon, she would belong to someone else, and he would lose her forever.

Or… There was one way to forestall the inevitable, and for a breathless moment he allowed himself to follow that forbidden thought trail. Or, he could confess how deeply, desperately, and helplessly in love with her he was. He could offer her the Heart Rock he'd found in the woods surrounding the Brae, and he could beg her to marry him, even though he had nothing to offer her other than himself.

His head fell back against the chair. Yes, he could do that. And then Regina would tell him she didn't feel the same way, and he would lose her anyways. Which would be worse, to confess his love for her and lose her, or to remain silent and stay near her, even after he'd lost her to the Lionheart?

He reached into his pocket, withdrawing the small, lavender Rock that he always kept on his person and rolling it between his fingers. Like his own heart, this belonged to her and always would. The former Nazari mated for life; their hearts, once lost, were gone forever. Whether or not Regina accepted him, he was hers anyways; he'd never love anyone but her. Given that, didn't it make sense to offer her the Heart Rock? Even if she rejected him, he could not, would not give the Heart to anyone else; she should have it either way.

Drawing a deep breath, he stood, closing his fingers around the Rock. By this time, Regina should be finished with her bath. When she was finished bathing, she always dismissed Clover and Azalea; they would be alone for the rest of the night. If he was going to do this, now was the perfect time…

He opened the door, then stopped short upon seeing Baron Vulpez, hand poised to knock on his door.

Baron Reynard Vulpez was not a conventionally attractive man. He had narrow-set eyes and a rather long nose, thin lips beneath a carefully twirled moustache, and sandy brown hair falling around his pale face. His gaze was intelligent, cunning, and cold; his smirk smug and superior. Of all Regina's courtiers, Vulpez was Dafydd's least favorite.

"Baron," he greeted the elder man shortly, discreetly sliding the Heart Rock back into his pocket. "What can I do for you?"  
"I was just passing by on my way to my chambers," Vulpez said in his reedy voice. "One of the Pages asked me to deliver this letter to you."

Dafydd quirked a skeptical eyebrow. The high and mighty Baron, willingly doing menial labor? Highly unlikely.

"My dear man, you needn't be so skeptical," Vulpez defended himself archly. "I am perfectly capable of carrying a missive. And, as your Grace is above me in station, it's appropriate that I should do so."

Oh. Right. Dafydd was a Duke; the third-most powerful person in the queendom after the Red Lion and Regina herself, as a matter of fact. So he did outrank Vulpez, and could assign him to run chores for him. He'd have to keep that in mind.

"Could you wait here a tick?" Dafydd asked casually. "In case this needs a fast reply."

He managed to smother his grin at the tic in Vulpez's jaw, but the baron inclined his head in acquiescence. Satisfied, Dafydd returned to his desk, cracking open the wax seal while simultaneously noting that it wasn't the original; someone had read his letter and closed it again before it had gotten to his hands. How annoying.

The letter proved to be from Briallen. Dafydd skimmed it quickly, frowning; close to his widowed sister-in-law as he was, it was unusual for Bri to write him twice in one week. He had just seen her three hours ago and she hadn't mentioned anything abnormal; had some emergency happened? But no, this letter was dated from yesterday. How long had it been in the hands of whoever had read it before him?

As he read it over, Dafydd sighed. This wasn't a report about the state of Annwyn, his ducal estate in the south of Crims; Bri was writing about her elder son, Gregan. In the nearly two years since his athair's death (at Dafydd's hand, though he wasn't certain his nephew knew that), the once boisterous and eager to please Gregan had become withdrawn and moody, rarely speaking. Lately, he'd taken to isolating himself in his room for hours on end, and Briallen was getting worried.

Dafydd sighed, rubbing his jaw. Why hadn't Bri mentioned anything today during his visit? Unless she'd thought he had already gotten her letter…

"Is something wrong, my lord?" Vulpez asked.  
"Family trouble," Dafydd replied. "My nephew."  
"Ah," Vulpez nodded, stroking his moustache. "How old is he?"  
"Nearing fifteen now," Dafydd said.  
"And his profession?" Vulpez asked.  
Dafydd shook his head. "He's still at home."  
"Ah. I thought that was rather unusual, among your people?" Vulpez questioned.

Dafydd paused, tilting his head in thought. Vulpez was right, he realized; most of the Hightopp men chose a profession, or at least an apprenticeship, once they'd completed their Manhood Rites. For Niall, Andras and Dafydd it had been straight into the Hassasseen; others in their clan had been apprenticed to the blacksmith or the Horse tenders or the weavers. Gregan had undergone his Rite nearly two years ago, when Dafydd had first moved Bri and her boys to his estate. And yet, no mention of a profession had ever been broached by himself, Bri, or Gregan.

Perhaps Dafydd could be forgiven for the fact that Gregan's future had slipped his mind; he was busy in Isla Affalin caring for Regina and maintaining the Heart army. And Briallen could be forgiven, since her two sons were all she had left of Niall and of course she'd want to keep them close. But why hadn't Gregan ever made mention of a profession he'd like to go into?

"It is unusual," Dafydd admitted.  
"Personally, I would remedy that, sir," Vulpez said thoughtfully. "A young man without a profession to occupy his mind soon becomes ridiculous."

Dafydd nodded, considering the older man's advice. Perhaps it was time to push Gregan to consider his future.

"Would you send him back to your village, or would you rather him apprentice in one of the capitals?" Vulpez asked.  
"I suppose that would depend on what sort of profession Gregan would want," Dafydd replied.  
"Perhaps you should arrange for the young man to visit," Vulpez suggested. "Have a talk with him, and then arrange him an apprenticeship. I'd be glad to help, if he'd prefer to remain in Isla Affalin."  
"Thank you, Baron," Dafydd nodded. "I'll send the invitation in the morning."  
"Very good," Vulpez said. "If that's all…"  
"Yes, that's all," Dafydd dismissed him.

He hardly paid attention as the wily Baron bowed his way out of the study. Glancing down at Briallen's letter again, Dafydd slid it into the top drawer for safekeeping. He'd answer her letter and send it out tomorrow.

For now, it was late; Regina was sure to be falling asleep. Too late to try to talk to her, to offer her the Heart Rock and all it meant. Sighing in disappointment, Dafydd blew out the candles and left his office, making his way through the castle to the chambers he and Regina shared. If he couldn't talk to her, he could at least fall asleep to the sound of her breathing; it would have to be enough, for the time being.

* * *

As twilight deepened to true night and painted the streets of London in shadow, the proprietor of True Reflections stood behind the counter, reconciling his end-of-day accounts. If he had any employees, they likely would have considered him eccentric for preferring handwritten bookkeeping to computer programs, but he had none, so they didn't.

People were enchanted by his shop. The fact that Chase Hart only sold looking glasses should have meant that he had very little business, but he had made a name for himself over the past ten years as a connoisseur of mirror styles. Whenever an interior designer, set production assistant, or snobby nouveau riche needed a looking glass, they came straight to him. Among the hundreds of mirrors in his shop, Chase would invariably find the perfect one, always with a wink and the promise that the mirror would show them exactly what they needed to see. Chase was the best at what he did, and the world loved him for it. Well, everyone in the world that mattered, anyways.

Chase Hart, however, cared little for this world. He'd never been a fan of London. He'd spent much of his childhood dreaming of a different land, a Wonderland. A place of talking flowers and whispering trees and utterly mad animals, a place at once as insubstantial as a dream and yet more real than anything this world could offer.

He'd stumbled across _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass_ as a child, in whatever foster home he'd been in at the time. He hadn't lasted too long there, but he'd nicked the book when the time came to leave, and had kept it with him all through his childhood. It had been a beautiful, haunting dream; nagging at the edges of his mind like a half-forgotten memory. Through a long succession of foster homes and interchangeable cities, the book had been a touchstone, something permanent he could cling to. How many hours had he spent, laying in the grass and wishing with all his might that he could disappear into Wonderland?

The story could have ended there. Chase began to grow up, and his daydreams about Wonderland began to be forgotten amidst schoolwork, the brutal foster system, and the process of growing up. Wonderland could have faded away forever, and Chase Hart would have been no different from thousands of other children who had outgrown their Wonderlands.

But one night in University changed all of that. It had been a party— Chase didn't generally go to many parties, preferring to keep to himself, but the girl he'd had an eye on at the time was going, so he'd crashed. He'd ended up on one of the couches in the basement with half a dozen people he didn't know, partaking of Cheshire stamps and cheap vodka.

In later years, he'd find it funny that it had taken a drug trip to make the entire world make sense.

He'd graduated from Uni with a degree in business administration. As soon as he got out, he'd started making plans— saving his money, finding looking glasses, trying to remember how to use them. As his reputation began to grow, so did his resources. Every mirror he came into contact with was checked; every possible looking glass was reserved and saved. At points he'd begun to fear he was going Mad; what if it had just been a drug trip? What if they weren't memories, but rather just dreams? What if there was no way back?

Then one night about seven months ago, Wonderland had found him.

He didn't really remember Baron Vulpez, but he had no doubt that the man was who he said he was. Even if he hadn't been speaking from the other side of the Looking Glass, the baron was too slinking, too sly and slithy and untrustworthy to come from anywhere but Iracebeth's Court. And even if he didn't exactly remember the Baron, Vulpez clearly recognized him. He'd been searching for Chase for a long time on his side of the Glass.

Crims needed him, Vulpez had told Chase. The country was now under the control of the daughter of Alice of Legend. She had taken over Iracebeth's dynastic surname, her title, her throne. She was changing Crims, undoing everything the Red Queen had wrought. And, Vulpez claimed, the land was crying out in protest. Calling for its true ruler to claim it again, to reclaim the Heart Throne of the House of Praecordia.

Really, how could Chase be asked to refuse such an offer? Wonderland had been his lifelong dream, something precious not to be Forgotten. But not anymore. No more Impossible dreams; now it was time to take it for himself.

Vulpez had promised to take care of all the details on his side. Once Vulpez had found a way to legitimately reclaim the throne from the current Queen, Chase would return home and take up the crown. The message had come through this morning; everything was ready. Not only did Vulpez have a plan, but he had allies to ensure that their plans came to fruition. It was time.

After locking the front door and extinguishing all the lights, Chase wove his way through the store, ignoring all the mirrors and the hundreds of reflections that danced around him. He walked back into his private office, closing the door behind him and considering the full-length looking glass that he'd leaned against his desk that morning. It didn't look like anything special; just a simple oval mirror with a plain black frame. But this was the Looking Glass that was going to bring him home.

Drawing a deep breath to steady his emotions, Chase pressed a hand to the surface of the Glass. The mirror began to fog over and ripple, looking like a pool of mercury. Without a moment's hesitation, he boldly walked through the Looking Glass, reminding himself to breathe and move slowly so he wouldn't fall in an undignified heap on the floor.

The room he entered into was darkened, with only one brace of candles lit on the wall directly next to the Looking Glass he'd exited. Judging by the size and emptiness of the room, this must be some sort of ballroom. But his surroundings held less interest for him than the three people who had gathered to greet him.

Baron Vulpez was in front, of course, looking absurdly pleased with himself. To his left was a tall, thin man with flowing white hair, moustache and pointy beard hanging from his chin, garbed entirely in white. A quick assessing glance told Chase that this must be a member of the White Court of Marmoreal. And to Vulpez's right… Chase's mouth curled up in a faint smirk. Well well, she was an exquisite creature; a flawless face and figure, even if she was a bit too covered up for his tastes. But it wasn't just her physical beauty; it was the expression in her eyes that drew him in. Shrewd, calculating, devious. This was a woman out for revenge and power. He'd enjoy having her by his side.

"By the Fates," the White man breathed. "I can hardly believe my eyes."  
"You'd best convince yourself quickly," Chase said dryly. "We haven't much time to waste."  
Vulpez took a step forward, sketching him a shallow bow. "This is Duke Blancmilque, formerly of High Queen Mirana's Court. And this is Afanen Hightopp."  
"A Hightopp?" Chase frowned. "Weren't they all wiped out?"  
"My branch of the clan was banished to the Outlands long before the Red Queen unleashed the Jabberwocky on the Hightopps," Afanen replied, her voice a throaty purr. "We've only recently returned to Underland."  
"Isn't the current Queen a clanswoman of yours, then?" Chase asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
Afanen didn't scowl, exactly, but her dislike of the aforementioned Queen was clear. "I have no love for her."  
"I see," Chase said thoughtfully. "Well, let's not waste anymore time. There's much work to be done."  
"Indeed," Vulpez murmured. "Welcome home, your Highness."

* * *

**Language Note**: The Outlandish terms I used came from this website: www. names- meanings names/ term- of- endearment- male

As a reminder:  
Mo laoch: Scots Gaelic for 'my champion'  
Dearbadan-de: Scots Gaelic for 'butterfly'

Mo farquar: Scots Gaelic for 'my dear man'  
Ma taavi: Welsh; taavi is derived from the Welsh name Dafydd [ironically enough], which means 'beloved'. So ma taavi means 'my beloved.'


	2. Comings and Goings

**Author's Note**: Of all the plot twists and changes I've made to this story in the two years I've been working on it, one of my favorites is the idea of a Suitors' Joust. This is especially true now that I've been able to build up and expand upon Regina and Dafydd's unresolved feelings for each other. I'm really gonna enjoy putting them through this Joust and its aftermath. Considering that I originally yelled at Regina for introducing the Joust into my plot, the fact that it's now one of my favorite obstacles is kind of funny.

This is a fairly short chapter [for this story, anyways], and there isn't much action. It's one of my Chess Chapters, which is what I call it when all I need to do is maneuver everyone where I need them. Still, I enjoyed working through Regina's and Dafydd's psychologies, and I'm really going to enjoy the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Images**: Remove all spaces.

Alice's traveling dress: demodecouture wordpress/ wp- contents/ uploads/ 2009/ 11/ gwendolen 11. jpg  
Alice's traveling hat: www. riverjunction thumbnail. asp? file= assets/ images/ productimages/ ladies/ hats/ tophats/ blueblacktophat 2214- 1. jpg & maxx= 300 & maxy= 0  
The Horizon: gaspee. info/ history/ images/ ShipsAndMaps/ brigantine_ drawing. jpg  
Horizon's figurehead: www. talismancoins catalog/ Cutty_ Sark_ Figurehead. jpg  
Duchess' mansion: www. australiantraveller images/ galleries/ 3707/ Thorngrove 003. jpg

**Special Thanks**: Many thanks to my dear friend Sandra, who helped me figure out how in the world I was going to make this Joust thing work. Additional thanks to my wonderful beta, Ranguvar27, for taking time out of NaNo to look this chapter over for me!

* * *

The front courtyard of the Cerulean Castle was bustling with activity. A full hand of Clubs, Suits and Pages were carefully packing wagons with everything Queen Alice would need on her trip Oversea. Some wagons were being filled with the belongings of the diplomats Alice was bringing with her; the plan was to leave one diplomat in each country Alice visited, in order to further the relations between Witzend and the Oversea countries. Trunks of clothing, extra boxes of food and supplies for the ship, lacquered blue boxes of official correspondences and royal decrees, and gifts for the foreign dignitaries Alice would be meeting with were all neatly packed and tied down, along with a carefully wrapped antique Looking Glass. Alice would be gone for an unspecified amount of time, but there was sure to be business back home that would demand her attention. This way, even though Tarrant would be sitting on the throne as Regent, if he needed her for any reason, it would be easy to contact her.

Though busy, the courtyard was an organized hive being overseen by a rather imperious Dormouse, whose authority was aided, abetted, and occasionally absconded by a twitching Hare clutching a ladle. Mallymkun waved her hatpin sword about with a grim satisfaction. With Tarrant now stepping up to serve as King Regent, he had temporarily relinquished his role as Ace of Hearts and Queen's Champion to General Koda, the Bear who had loyally served the Blue Royals since he was a Cub. General Koda had promptly asked Mally to serve as his second-in-command, a post which she was happy to fulfill. Underland knew she couldn't trust anyone else to keep the Clubs well in hand [or paw, as the case may be].

Alice probably should have been in the courtyard as well, helping Mally oversee the packing. Instead, she was sequestered in the Royal Suite, locked in an embrace with Tarrant. Oh, she didn't want to let go. She was looking forward to this trip, yes; she had spent over a year planning it out and preparing for it. It was going to be a wonderful trip, and an excellent boost for Witzend's still-flagging economy. The trade agreements she hoped to secure would provide the Hightopps with even more outlets for their burgeoning artistic endeavors, and in turn provide Witzend— and eventually all of Underland— with new trade wares and supplies.

But even though she was looking forward to this trip, she wasn't nearly so enthusiastic about leaving Tarrant behind. After all, she had thrown away eighteen years with him. She didn't relish the prospect of losing even more time, especially not when she had so little Time to spare. Even though they would have the Looking Glass for communication, it wasn't the same. Time worked differently Oversea, according to Mirana's husband Kalen; Alice and Tarrant would have to carefully plan their visits to be sure neither of them missed any of their obligations. This embrace would be the last for Fates only knew how long; once they left their private chambers, they would have to be the Blue Queen and the Sapphire King and there would be no long, lingering farewells. So Alice didn't rush to end their embrace; indeed, she tightened her arms around Tarrant, fighting against Time's passing.

Tarrant certainly wasn't about to argue with Alice's delaying tactics. He sighed as he rested his head on hers; how long would this embrace have to last? How long would Alice be gone Oversea, busy with her diplomatic mission? How long would Tarrant be in Berserka, furiously busy and unable to have contact with her beyond letters and the occasional conversation via the Looking Glass?

He didn't relish their pending separation. He had never liked being apart from his Alice. He knew, of course, that she was deliriously excited about this trip, and he would never dream of sabotaging her happiness. But oh Fates, he would miss her so very much…

But he didn't bother telling her that she could stay, that she could choose not to embark on this mission. He had tried that once, many many Days ago. Once upon a Time, he had asked an armor-clad Champion not to drink the blood of a Jabberwock, asked her to choose Underland, choose _him_. She had refused him then, and he knew that if he were to repeat the question, she would give him the same answer. He knew his Alice; she wanted to leave. She was itching to go, to travel, to see new parts of the world. Alice was an explorer; she had an insatiable curiosity about the world, and he knew she would never be content until she had explored every last inch of it. He could ask her to stay until he was blue in the face, but she would only reply that she had questions that needed answering, and things that wanted doing.

It had taken Tarrant a long time to accept that their marriage would always be like this. Oh, he and Alice were reconciled now, and blissfully happy in their Second Marriage [as they called it, only half in jest] and their two children. They were husband and wife, deeply and forever committed to each other. But they would never be like Kalen and Mirana, attached at the hip and never separated for more than a day. Alice would forever be roaming and exploring, and Tarrant would always be waiting for her return, enjoying a few precious hours with her here and there before she was off on another adventure.

He should have realized this truth earlier, he knew. Alice had popped in and out of Underland as a child; he should have realized that she would never be content to be stationary. And yet, he had spent years thinking that she would someday scratch the life out of her wanderer's itch, and would be happy to settle down. He truly must be Mad, to have held onto that hope for so long.

But, he was content. Perhaps she wasn't quite the Alice he had been expecting to return with their daughter… But then again, had she ever been the Alice he had expected? Of course not. But whatever Alice she was, she had still chosen him. And that necessarily made her the Right Alice At Last. His Alice.

At length, Tarrant gently disentangled himself from Alice's crushing embrace. Tilting his head, he gave her a look that swept her from head to toe. Alice's traveling suit was, of course, blue; the skirt a solid cobalt, the jacket blue with thin black stripes and shiny jet buttons. A black and white cameo hung from a blue ribbon about her neck, and her hair was swept back in an elegant coiffure. Yes, she was practically perfect. Smiling faintly, Tarrant walked into their bedroom while Alice pulled on her black gloves. He re-emerged, holding something behind his back, a gap-toothed grin on his face.

"Close your eyes," he instructed her.

Smiling, she complied, remaining stationary as Tarrant settled his present onto her head, making minute adjustments before gently pinning it in place.

"There!" he announced, stepping back. "Now you're ready."

Opening her eyes, Alice turned to the small looking glass by the door, taking in Tarrant's new creation. She smiled, reaching a gloved hand up to gently touch the feminine top hat. It was black, with a blue band the same shade of cobalt as her dress, a blue ostrich feather, and a fine black veil hanging in the back. He hadn't been able to resist creating her a new chapeau. If he couldn't physically stand beside her, at least he could give her a piece of himself to take with her.

"It's beautiful," she smiled. "Thank you."  
Tarrant nodded, before offering her his arm. "Come, my Teacup. We'd best get you delivered to the ship. You have things to do and adventures to enjoy."

Yes, Tarrant was coming to accept that Alice would always Leave. But more than that, he absolutely and resolutely believed that she would always, _always_ Return.

* * *

There were times when Dafydd didn't like his job.

Regina was in a positively foul mood. Her eyes burned a sickly topaz, surrounded by the black, bruise-like shadows that accompanied her worst fits of Madness. She managed to retain enough composure to descend gracefully as he handed her down from the carriage, but it was clear to everyone with eyes that the Queen of Hearts was in a glorious temper.

If the Council was going to continue causing Regina this much trouble, Dafydd would have no problem permanently evicting them from the castle. He'd be doing himself a favor, really, since he was the one who was going to have to calm her down again.

She looked up sharply at Brax's excited squeal, and though he was standing behind her, Dafydd could see the tension in her shoulders ease away as she approached her enthusiastic little brother. Tarrant's face was concerned as he greeted his elder child, and as Regina turned her attention to Brax, the Hatter gave Dafydd a questioning glance. Dafydd shook his head slightly, sighing; no, he had no idea what they'd done to her this time.

As one, the Blue Royals approached the dock, and the ship that awaited Alice. The ship was what Alice called a two-masted brigantine; she had sailed on a similar vessel on her expedition to China. The _Horizon_, as she had been christened, was painted with bright blue and gold trim; her figurehead was a model of Regina, arm outstretched and holding a sparrow. While they waited for the crew to load all of the luggage and supplies on board, the Hightopp-Clavas stood off to the side, making their final goodbyes.

"You will take care of yourself?" Alice asked Regina, laying her hands on her daughter's shoulders and searching her Madness-tinged eyes.  
"I'll do my best," Regina promised, trying to find a smile.  
"You know I'm only a Looking Glass away, if you need to talk," Alice pressed.  
"I know, Mama," Regina replied. "Don't worry about me."  
"I'm your mother, that's my job," Alice retorted, before turning to cuddle her son one more time.

Regina did her level best to keep her face calm and neutral, and to keep from thinking about her Council's latest proposal. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Finally, everything was ready. Alice handed Abraxas to Regina, smiling at them all as she and her small troupe of diplomats, secretaries and servants headed up the gangplank. Alice took her place at the rail, near the bow, looking out towards the horizon before turning back to her family.

"Be back again before you know it," she smiled.  
"Fairfarren, my Alice," Tarrant replied, blowing her a wistful kiss.

The ship left the port with all the citizens of the newly-opened town watching it depart. Tarrant and Regina stood watching the ship until she was just a speck on the horizon. When she was gone, Tarrant turned to Regina.

"Well! After all that excitement, I could do with a bite," he announced. "Do you have time for a meal before you go back, Sugar Cube?"  
"I have all the time in the world, Da," Regina replied.

Somehow, Dafydd managed to keep from rolling his eyes as Tarrant offered Regina his arm and led the way to the Frog and Feathers, the inn owned by their clanswoman Abigania. He'd been dealing with Regina and her Mood all day, ever since the morning meeting with her Council. She had managed to collect herself during Alice's leave taking, smiling and playing with her brother, but she couldn't fool him. She was still Mad; he could still see the shades of topaz hiding in her gold-flecked green eyes.

But she wouldn't let him do anything to ease her out of her temper. The few times he'd tried, she had snapped at him, finally drawing the curtains over her carriage windows in irritation to sulk in private. He understood why she was so furious, truly. But it was his job to protect her, to share her burdens. How could he do that if she refused his help?

The fact that she refused to confide in him bothered him more than he really cared to think about. There had been a time when he had been privy to every blessed thought in her head, and even if Regina didn't quite share everything with him anymore, she normally came to him for help when something was bothering her. He was well aware that Council meetings were always rough on Regina; had Baron Vulpez been pushing her to marry again? If so, why wasn't she saying so? Hadn't he already sworn he'd save her from an unwanted marriage? If it was time to go to war over this, he was more than happy; all he needed was her say-so. Why was she holding back?

Several paces ahead of Dafydd, Tarrant was observing his daughter thoughtfully while she absently bounced her brother on her hip.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you, or shall I just guess?" Tarrant asked.  
Regina blinked, shaking her head slightly and refocusing on her father. "What?"  
"You've been in a Mood since you got here," Tarrant said. "Don't think I haven't noticed. The Council is the only thing that ever gets you this angry. What've they done now?"

Regina sighed heavily. She should have known that Tarrant would suss it out of her.

"Baron Vulpez wants me to host a Suitors' Joust," she said lowly.  
"Oh dear," Tarrant sighed heavily.  
Regina glanced up at her athair. "You know of them?"  
"It's something of an archaic custom," Tarrant shrugged. "But that's how Mirana met Kalen. Did the Baron mention any potential candidates?"  
Regina nodded. "He said there are a number of eligible Oversea Princes and leaders. I haven't given him an answer yet."  
"I see," Tarrant mused. "And why are you so furious about it?"  
Regina blinked, confused. "You know exactly why-"  
"You don't want an arranged marriage, I know," Tarrant said. "But you're forgetting one very important thing, Sugar Cube. No suitor may claim the hand of the Queen without besting her Champion in battle. Take a good look at your Champion and tell me he can be defeated in battle, especially with your happiness on the line."

Regina glanced over her shoulder at her Champion. Alright, her da had a point. When, besides that one incident that didn't even count because they'd both been Mad at the time, had Dafydd ever failed her?

"You're right," she said softly, her eyes still lingering on her Champion. "He's never let me down. He wouldn't let this happen to me."

For half a tick Tarrant tried to smother his smile, but then he realized that Regina had no attention to spare for him, and he let himself beam. He still didn't like the idea of his wee little boy growing up and losing her heart, but if she had to fall in love with anyone, he was glad it was Dafydd. Regina's young Champion worshiped the ground she walked on; Tarrant knew he could trust Dafydd to take care of her. They would be very good for each other, one day… Just please, dear Spirit of Underland, not yet! Let Tarrant have a few more years with his bairn before he lost her to a husband and a family of her own.

"Precisely!" Tarrant nodded, commandeering Regina's attention again. "So, you're not to worry about it any longer. We're going to walk into the Frog and Feathers, we're going to let Abbie test her new recipes on us, and we're going to have a marvelous time before you have to go back home!"

As they walked into their clanswoman's tavern, Abraxas started wriggling and fussing in Regina's arms, twisting around and making grabby hands towards Dafydd. Grinning obligingly, Dafydd relieved Regina of the fidgeting little prince, settling Brax in the crook of his arm and entertaining the sprog with finger games and sleight of hand. From the delighted giggles, Brax was quite enjoying himself; at one point he even patted Dafydd's cheek in approval.

Regina smiled at the pair of them as the Royals, the Fearail, and the Suits all took tables in Abbie's back room. Abraxas was by no means a shy child; on the contrary, he reveled in attention. But he was quite astoundingly picky about who was allowed the privilege of holding him, and when they were permitted to do so. Regina was far and away Brax's favorite person after his parents, but Dafydd came right after Regina in Brax's affections. Once Brax had wriggled his way into Dafydd's arms, there was no chance of dislodging him. Fortunately, the mammoth Champion didn't seem to mind.

The longer she watched them, though, the sharper the _ache_ in her heart became. It had begun happening with more frequency over the past year and a half, and could be caused by anything; Dafydd laughing while he trained with his men, his hand on her arm as he aided her into her carriage, even simply catching his eye across the room. The _ache_ was astounding in its strength; it twisted her insides into a pretzel and made her entire chest hurt, wringing her very breath from her and stilling her blood in her veins.

Sometimes, she wished she could hate him for doing this to her. Fates, it had been nearly two years, and she was just as sick in love with him as she had ever been. And every time she tried to tamp it down, she was overwhelmed again as soon as he flashed that heartbreaking grin of his. He held her heart completely, and it only made it more painful to remember that there was no fairy tale awaiting her. No matter how desperately she loved him, how pathetically she pined for him, yearned and longed and wished for him, he wasn't hers, and never would be. To him, she was just his Queen; a Vow he had made and an obligation he had taken.

She had spent months resisting anyone's attempts to marry her off, because there was only one man she wanted to marry. But with each passing day, it only became clearer to her that she was holding out for something that was never going to happen. Surely, if Dafydd felt something other than platonic affection for her, he would have said something by now, wouldn't he? Perhaps he didn't remember their kiss; well, he had been Mad at the time, she could forgive that. But if he loved her, surely he would have tried again. But he never had; he had never declared himself, or even given any signs that he wanted to.

Why, just look at the way he flirted with Abigania, Regina told herself miserably. He was laughing and smiling, easily teasing her. He never did anything like that with her. They might laugh, and he might sometimes sweep her into a spontaneous dance, but he never teased her like he did with Abbie… or indeed, with any of their clanswomen.

Why was she still holding out for the Impossible, she asked herself as she pushed her grilled Jumpingfish around her plate. There was no future for her and Dafydd. Why shouldn't she try to move on? Aye, she'd lost her heart to him, but if there was one thing the Aboveground had taught her, it was that one didn't need a heart to have a marriage. She couldn't stand Dafydd making her so miserable; why not reach out and find a little happiness for herself? Perhaps she would never love again, but at least she would have a companion in her King, and children to love and spoil. And who knew? Perhaps by creating a family for herself, she could forget what she felt for Dafydd, and this _ache_ would finally leave her in peace.

* * *

Chase squinted up at the fairy tale mansion waiting for them at the end of the Flower-lined path. He remembered very little of this estate; he couldn't have been more than six years old the last time he'd been here. But he did remember that the Flowers liked to bite. He'd hated the Flowers as a child; now, he thought that perhaps they'd been planted in order to warn potential visitors away from _her_.

"Your Highness?" Afanen asked, pressing close to him to avoid the Flowers [or at least, that was her excuse]. "Why did you need to see the Duchess?"  
Chase smirked, draping an arm across her shoulders. "She has something of mine, and it's high time she gave it back."

He didn't bother knocking; he merely twisted the knob and strode inside, closely followed by Afanen, Vulpez and Blancmilque. He had no need to call for a servant to direct him to the Duchess; there was enough noise coming from the kitchen that he easily navigated the house.

"Watch your noses," he commented softly, before opening the kitchen door.

Chase's admonition made sense as soon as the door swung open and they were all inundated with a cloud of black pepper. While his companions were all preoccupied with sneezing and watering eyes, Chase removed his sports jacket and vigorously waved it around, dispersing the pepper and making it easier to breathe. That done, he glanced around the kitchen.

The Cook stood at the stove, red-faced and scowling down into the large black cauldron. She tapped her foot as she stirred the soup, her free hand twitching towards the pepper grinder again. A dispirited pig chased a pair of scraggly chickens around the kitchen table. And seated in state at the kitchen table sat the Duchess. She was just as ugly as Chase remembered her; a short, squat woman stuffed into an unattractive red velvet dress that clashed horribly with her sallow skin and red nose. All of her features were unfortunate and inharmonious; piggish, beady black eyes beneath thick caterpillar eyebrows, a large, beaky nose over impossibly thin lips, no jaw line to speak of but plenty of chins.

"Who are you?" the Duchess scowled up at them.  
"Duchess," Chase said levelly, folding his arms. "Where is it?"  
"How should I know where It has gotten to?" she sniffed. "I've not left this kitchen in years, and It most certainly is always wandering off!"  
"Before the Queen of Hearts left to wage the Colour War, she entrusted her recipe book to you," Chase said. "I need it back."  
"Well, are you looking for It or for Her Majesty's cookbook?" the Duchess asked peevishly. "For they are not at all the same thing, you know, and the moral of that is: always say what you mean, and mean what you say, even though they are not the same thing."  
"The cookbook, Duchess," Chase snapped.  
"And why should I give it to you?" the Duchess asked. "It was entrusted to me until such time as the Queen herself came to reclaim it. I was to wait for her invitation to a game of croquet. I'm very late, you see," she confided.  
"Indeed," Chase said. "Regardless, I need the book, and you will give it to me."  
"Shan't," the Duchess glared. "And the moral of that is-"

Without hesitating, Chase withdrew a dagger from beneath his sport coat and threw it, catching the Duchess directly in the heart. Afanen shrieked in alarm, and Vulpez and Blancmilque jumped in surprise. The Cook, however, merely sneezed and continued fiddling with her soup pot. When the Duchess had fallen off her chair and landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, Chase calmly walked over, withdrew the dagger, and cleaned it off with his handkerchief.

"Always did hate her moralizing. Afanen, how do you feel about becoming a Duchess?" he asked offhandedly.  
"I…" Afanen cleared her throat, composing herself. "If my lord desires it."  
"Good," Chase nodded. "You will take the title, then, and join me at Court. Duke Blancmilque will reside here, in safety from Queen Mirana's forces."  
"Thank you, your Highness," Blancmilque stuttered, bowing nervously.  
"We should find the Queen's book in the study," Chase said, heading through the door by the stove. "Once we have it, we'll return with all due haste to the palace. I'm quite interested in this little Queen who sits on Iracebeth's throne."

* * *

Three hours later found Chase, Afanen and the Doctor seated in the Oyster Cove, a popular tavern close to the harbor of Isla Affalin. Chase leaned back in his chair, tracing idle patterns along the bare skin of Afanen's shoulder while the Doctor excitedly flipped through Iracebeth's recipe book.

"Aw, this is fantastic!" the Doctor enthused, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. "Most of the principles are the same of course, but the brewing process is a bit new."  
"Indeed," Chase murmured. "Will you have any troubles, do you think?"  
"Naw," the Doctor shook his head. "'S a bit tricky, but nothin' I can't handle. Be a fun challenge, I think!"  
"Excellent," Chase smiled tightly. "You have my thanks, Doctor. Any ingredients you require shall be procured for you, all you need do is inform the Baron."

Grinning jovially, the Doctor swept the book into his pocket and left, bouncing out the door. No doubt he would spend the rest of the evening in his laboratory, experimenting with his new recipes. Chase watched him go, smirking to himself; that had been almost too easy.

"Your Highness," Afanen pouted. "Why do you even need him? I told you, I'm more than capable of brewing whatever you need."  
"You'll serve your purpose, Afanen," Chase shushed her as her hand slid up his thigh. "But for this, there can't be a shred of evidence that you're involved. It's much less suspicious for the Doctor to do the dirty work. You shouldn't even be here."  
She laughed, a low, throaty laugh calculated to make men weak in the knees with desire. "Then tell me to go," she purred, locking eyes with him.

He smirked, tangling one hand in her heavy golden locks and bringing her face to his, kissing her possessively as he dragged her onto his lap with an utter disregard for their current location or who may be watching.

"Why are you here, Afanen?" he asked, trailing hot kisses up the column of her white neck.  
"Because I want to see you crowned," she replied, wriggling in his lap.  
"Why?" he pressed. "Why me? My people exiled yours."  
"That was generations ago," Afanen replied impatiently, grinding her hips into his again. "It has nothing to do with you. You are the rightful heir to the throne; if you take it, Regina is gone. She's an outsider, she doesn't belong here."  
"She's just like me," Chase pointed out, pressing up into her as his hands slid up her sides. "Both born in Underland, and sent away to be raised in Upland."  
"But you belong here," Afanen insisted. "This is your throne by right. She's just some little upstart born of two Mad parents. She rules by Underland's leave, not by right."  
"And she's protected by the man you love," Chase smirked.

Afanen paused, pulling away to look at Chase's face. His smirk widened; clearly, she hadn't expected him to know so much about her. She really shouldn't have been surprised, though; of course he was going to be sure he knew who everyone in Isla Affalin was. Especially when Baron Vulpez volunteered a woman Chase had never heard of to play such an integral role in the coup.

Oh yes, Chase knew who Afanen Hightopp was. He knew all about her liason and broken betrothal to Dafydd Hightopp, knew she was vain and used her beauty for power, knew she wanted nothing more than to enter the aristocracy and see Regina, the woman she saw as her rival, fall.

Funny, really. If she hadn't been such a short-sighted slut, perhaps Chase would have considered making her his Queen.

Chase tilted his head, marshalling his wandering thoughts as he watched Afanen. He could see the gears turning in her head, watched her rapidly reassess the situation and find a strategy to try to make things play out her way.

"I never loved Dafydd," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I wanted him, certainly. I still do. He's a magnificent lover, and we were Betrothed. It rankles me to watch him break all his obligations to his people, and for what? Some wee slip of a girl who's clearly half-Mad herself, a princess who'll never give him what he wants. He's destroying his life for her. I want him back in my bed. I want her to suffer. You can make both happen."  
"I see," Chase said thoughtfully. "And if I were to desire you?"  
Afanen lowered her eyes, but the gesture was purely sexual and not at all innocent. "My life and my body belong to my king," she murmured, her voice like velvet.

Chase smirked, but before he could push her onto her knees for a little worship, Baron Vulpez hurried into the tavern, making a beeline for their table.

"My lord, Lady Afanen," he panted, nodding.  
"What is it?" Chase asked impatiently.  
"I've just come from the palace," Vulpez gasped. "Her Majesty called a special meeting of the Council."  
"And?" Chase snapped.  
"The Queen has agreed to a Suitors' Joust," Vulpez announced.  
Chase's head raised, his eyes glittering. "Excellent."  
Afanen's brow furrowed in confusion. "A Suitors' Joust? But… I don't understand. Why should that be necessary? Why can't you just sweep in and claim the throne?"  
"Because Regina has supporters," Chase answered, glancing down at her. "If we bulldoze in and topple her, they'll rise against us. But if I win her hand through a Joust, no one can say a word."  
"There is one problem," Vulpez admitted. When Chase's eyebrow rose in silent challenge, Vulpez cleared his throat, shifting his weight uneasily. "The Duke of Annwyn. The Queen's Champion. He's nigh undefeatable in combat."  
Afanen smirked, rubbing Chase's chest to get his attention. "Leave Dafydd to me, my lord," she purred. "I can render him useless."  
Chase's mouth quirked in cruel amusement. "Vicious little minx, aren't you."  
"I want my revenge, same as you," she said simply. "Let me lay him low for you."  
"Very well," Chase nodded. "Soon, my friends. Very soon, we'll set the world to rights again."

* * *

**Additional Author's Note**: My wonderful beta, Ranguvar27, is participating in NaNoWriMo this year, so this is the last chapter I'll be posting during November. I'm sorry about that, but as I've said from the beginning of this series, I'm not quite confident enough in my Wonderlandians to post this story without having a beta look over everything for me. So I'll see you all in December!


	3. The Suitors' Joust

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry for taking so long to update. Again. I mentioned in the last chapter that I wouldn't be updating through November because my beta was participating in NaNoWriMo. Well, December got knocked out because I had to unexpectedly move back home from the East Coast. I'm not entirely certain when the next update will be, because after the holidays I have to settle down and find a job. However, I'll try my best not to take too long. I really am sorry about the frequent delays, everyone. I appreciate your patience with me, and I promise, I will not stop until this entire story has been posted.

**Costuming Note**: Remove all spaces, as usual.

Regina's ball gown looks like this: images. elfwood art/ e/ d/ edarlein/ elven_ princess. jpg  
The gown Tarrant is making: fc 08. deviantart fs 31/ i/ 2008/ 203/ a/ 5/ butterfly_ dress_ by_ EndlessSummersDay. jpg  
During the Joust, Regina's dress looks like this: www. rossetti. vispa fair2a. jpg  
But the fabric of the skirt and sleeves looks like this: www. rossetticouture flaming- autumn- medieval- gown. jpg  
And she's wearing this jewelry: thailand- gift images/ amber- jewelry 1. jpg  
Dafydd's preferred mode of clothing looks like this: www. costumediscounters csc_ inc/ images/ items/ 250 x 349/ CI 86021. jpg  
However, because of his duties as Queen's Champion, his uniform looks something like this [minus the jacket]: media- cache- ec 4. pinterest upload/ 521010250611076294_ vk 8 kRWpa_ b. jpg  
And because the pictures of Scottish dress kilts aren't nearly Outlandish enough, I refer you to this picture and ask you to use your imagination to Tarrant-ify it: vivianamusumeciblog. files. wordpress 2009/ 04/ sir_ sean_ connery_ wearing_ scottish_ kilt. jpg

**Special Thanks**: As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta Ranguvar27 for giving this chapter a good edit! I was rather uneasy about the last POV [you'll see why when you get there], so thanks for the assurance that it worked the way I wanted it to.

* * *

As she rounded the corner that connected to the final hallway separating her from the ballroom, Regina paused. The hallway seemed to telescope before her, simultaneously stretching out for eternity while the ballroom double doors loomed far too closely. Not for the first time, Regina found herself wishing she could run in the opposite direction as fast as she could.

Dafydd paused beside her, and while she didn't look at him, she could _feel_ his smirk. It was that, more than anything, which steeled her spine. In the three weeks since Regina had announced to the Council that she would allow the Suitors' Joust to proceed, she and Dafydd had been at odds. He had been moody and brusque, brushing her off when she tried to discover what was wrong. His mysterious mood hadn't helped her stress, and the growing tension between them had strained their camaraderie.

The tension had finally boiled over three days ago into a full-blown argument— their first real fight, not counting the times of Madness. What had ostensibly begun as a disagreement about how revealing Regina's ball gown neckline should be spiraled into an argument about why they were even hosting the Joust in the first place. Dafydd had accused Regina of caving, Regina had called Dafydd a pigheaded Neandertal, and they had stormed off in opposite directions, leaving a stunned Arianrhod blinking after them in confusion.

In the ensuing days they had established a reluctant truce, more because they _had_ to than because they _wanted_ to. Argument or not, he was still her Champion, and they had to remain in each others' company. And when the Joust did begin, Dafydd would be Regina's official escort for the entire affair. A whole week of feasts, balls, entertainments, and outings interspersed with the bouts of combat; a whole week where Dafydd would be expected to stand not a pace behind Regina, but directly beside her. He was expected to serve as proxy to the King, staking his claim on her and attending to her until such time as a Suitor might defeat him in combat. For a solid week, she would be a mere whisper's distance from him— an Idea both torturous and tantalizing. He was more than happy to stand beside her, jealously keeping her hand on his arm.

As soon as they walked through those Double Doors of Doom, as Regina had dubbed them [it was apparently a Day to think of D words], the Joust would officially begin. Tonight was the introductory ball; after this, there wouldn't be a moment's peace until this Fates-accursed malarkey was finished. Regina stood frozen, just staring at the doors; could she really do this? Could she go through with this Joust, risk walking out of it with a husband? Not that she thought that anyone could defeat Dafydd in battle, but what if she actually liked one of her Suitors? Even though they would all be defeated by Dafydd, if she liked any of the Suitors, she could initiate courtship afterwards; what if that happened?

And what if it did, she asked herself. Wasn't this what she wanted— to move on, to give up her dreams of Dafydd and get on with her life? If she stayed on this side of the doors, she would be dooming herself to remain alone, always pining for him. On the other side of the doors, she at least had the chance of finding happiness.

As Regina stood before the doors, hesitating, Dafydd drew to a halt beside her, glancing down at her. "Not too late to back out," he pointed out, hoping she didn't catch just how hopeful he was.

That, more than anything, stiffened Regina's spine and steeled her resolve. Stubbornly raising her chin until it was parallel to the floor, she slipped her hand into the crook of Dafydd's elbow and nodded to the Pages to open the doors and begin the ordeal.

"Announcing her Majesty Regina, Queen of Hearts, and his Grace the Queen's Champion, the Duke of Annwyn."

Dafydd suppressed his sigh as much as he could, retreating behind his impassive façade. He could handle this; he highly doubted any of the Suitors could beat him in the combat ring. He wasn't going to lose Regina this week. The only thing he had to worry about was if she found a Suitor she liked and wanted to keep in contact with after the Joust was over. But for this week, everything would be alright.

Except, of course, for the fact that nothing was right at all.

He had been stunned, when the announcement about the Joust had been made. For a moment, he'd thought he was dreaming. How could this be true? Regina had spent nearly two years fighting against Baron Vulpez's insistence that she find a husband; why had she suddenly given in? Why _should_ she give in? As Tarrant was fond of saying, Regina was still very young; why should she rush into marriage? Why not enjoy her independence a while longer?

While his confusion had risen, his heart had sunk down into the pit of his stomach. Fates, it was starting; he was losing her. How could he possibly give her his— her— their Heart Rock, if she didn't love him in return? He had lost his heart to her, could never love anyone else, but she would never be his. He would be doomed to a half-life; forever in love with her, but never in possession of her heart in return.

Unless… Cautiously, he let himself imagine the other possibility again. That none of these Suitors would be able to best him in combat was a given. And if a Suitor couldn't best him, he couldn't be declared the winner of the Joust, and it would all be over. If he could just make it through this week, everything would go back to normal. He'd have Regina to himself again, and he could go through with his original plan of giving her the Rock and marrying her himself to keep her out of trouble.

Really, when he thought about it like that, it made this entire week much easier to deal with.

He glanced down at Regina as they walked down onto the dance floor. Regina's hand wasn't just on his arm; her fingers had curled around a fold of his coat, as if she feared letting go. If that was an indication that she wasn't quite as enthusiastic about this Joust as she had acted, that she needed the comfort of his presence just as much as he needed to stay close to her, then he was more than happy to oblige her.

His biggest issue with tonight was his clothing. He would have been perfectly content to wear his Champion's uniform; the white breeches, blousy white poet's shirt, and white vest embroidered with gold thread were simple and easy to move in, even if they were more restricting than the clothing he had grown up wearing. But no; Tarrant had insisted that for tonight, Dafydd shine as befit a Duke and a prince of the Hightopps. So Tarrant had wrangled Dafydd into the Hightopp tartan kilt, a purple waistcoat embroidered with sky blue and gold, a royal blue tailcoat, and a Hightopp Hat of the same royal blue, with a sash of nazarange [as Tarrant had dubbed the sunset orange color]. He felt stupid and was certain he looked just as foolish as he felt.

"Stop fidgeting," Regina chided him behind her smile, tugging on his arm. "You look wonderful."

He grumbled in discomfort, but glancing at her calmed him down. As always, she was utterly beautiful. Apparently, Tarrant and Arianrhod had schemed together, because her dress went perfectly with his ensemble. The gown was sky blue, although the gauzy fabric shimmered in the light with a purple sheen. It was trimmed in nazarange, which complimented Regina's ginger curls surprisingly well. The bodice, waist, and sleeves were studded with moonstones that subtly reflected the lights of the torches in the hall, lending her a faint luminescence that was enhanced by her matching moonstone jewelry. She seemed to float in her gown, like- well, like a butterfly.

They halted on the dance floor, and before she had time to say anything else he swept her off into the first dance of the evening. Yes, this part of the Joust he would enjoy. He'd always loved dancing with her, and for the next week he was expected to claim her for every dance her Suitors didn't take. He would focus on the dancing, and forget the rest.

* * *

Chase stood with Baron Vulpez, holding half a goblet of youngerberry wine as he observed the lay of the land. He couldn't afford to miss a single detail; too much depended upon having a thorough understanding of the state of the Court and the queendom. He would not compromise his success because of a lack of reconnaissance.

The first piece of the puzzle was the Queen herself. Baron Vulpez had told him her history, of course. But in terms of her personality and her mind she was still largely an enigma, and this could not be allowed to continue. He needed to know every facet of her, needed to know how to play upon her or take advantage of her weaknesses.

She was certainly pretty enough, with her large luminous eyes, bright smile, and shapely form. He knew, from conversations with his allies, that Regina had been strongly opposed to the idea of a Suitors' Joust for the longest time. Baron Vulpez had no idea why she had suddenly given in and agreed to host the Joust, and certainly there was no indication in her face at present to suggest that she was anything other than delighted by her circumstances. The fact that she could disguise her irritation and frustration so completely showed that the girl knew what was expected of a Queen and could be depended upon to do her duty. Yet it could also mean that she had a knack for guile, and could be party to intrigues; she might even possess savvy enough to maneuver against him.

But was she truly an enemy, or could she be turned into an ally? He had no interest in plunging Crims into a civil war. Besides, from what little he had seen of the country, Regina had proven herself an able and effective ruler, if very young. And certainly by marrying her, he would keep her supporters happy and loyal to his cause. He would need a Queen no matter what; why not keep Regina, who appeared to be beloved by her people? There was no reason why this couldn't be settled in a manner satisfactory to all.

But before he could begin to make plans concerning Regina, first he had to survive this Joust. There were six other Suitors vying for Regina's hand. And though Chase would pursue the throne no matter what, by far the easiest method of gaining the crown would be to win the Joust. So he observed his rivals, sizing them all up in a glance.

Bovin of Snud was a portly, placid young man. The young man was a distant relative of Queen Lamia's, he understood; as the aging King and Queen had no children of their own, the throne would pass to Bovin someday. That would surely be a disaster for Snud; Bovin didn't appear to possess the wit Absolem gave a pig. He looked as though he hadn't had a day of weapons training in his life, and he would surely be edged out of the competition early.

Isidore of Queast was similarly ill-fated to a Joust. Fates, the man wasn't even a Royal. Queast wasn't ruled by Kings or Queens, but by democratically elected Sharafs. The Queastians were farmers, mostly, though they did also train exceptionally good soldiers. Isidore at least looked like he knew what to do with the pointy end of a sword, but it was clear that he had none of the social graces or aristocratic bearing needed by a King; he looked incredibly uneasy in the grand surroundings, as though he knew how out of place he was.

The last four participants were all from Oversea; they had traveled nearly as far as Chase had in order to be here. The Shiao of Schult was over by the refreshments table, a lithe, melancholy-looking man draped in black robes studded with stars done in gold embroidery. Schult was a nation known for its beautiful textiles, and its deadly arrows. However, as formidable as Schultic warriors were with bow and arrow, they were significantly poorer soldiers in the close range. And given that the Jousts involved close-range fighting, there was little chance that the Shiao— Chase believed the man's name was Treda— would do well.

Accor was a land of advanced culture and technology. The people were obsessed with all forms of beauty, refinement, knowledge, and elegance. This of course meant that their military training was rather lacking. Other countries mocked Accor for their women's loose morals and their effeminate men. The Liegeling of Accor, Ero, was no different. He cast his seductive gaze at every woman— and even some men— that he came across. His long-fingered hands were white and soft, and he had clearly never held a sword in his life. The fact that he was here was utterly amusing; he would be eliminated in the first round.

Now, where had the King of Brabanga gotten to? The King, whose proper name was Aali, was somewhat older than the rest of the Suitors; probably nearer to thirty-five. Brabanga was a desert nation, rather similar to the fabled Outlands of Underland. As such, the people were often harsh and brave, and reportedly feared nothing. While Aali was dressed to the nines in his finest robes and gold jewelry, he carried a curved scimitar at his waist, and clearly knew what he was about. The Brabangan ruler might be a bit of a problem to defeat in combat; of all the Suitors, Chase felt that Aali was the only one he really needed to worry about.

The final contestant, though a Prince, wasn't in line for the throne in his native country. He was Alastar, youngest son of a youngest son. Alastar's father was the younger brother of King Kalen of Marmoreal, in fact. Clearly, King Akhilleus was eager to strengthen the alliance between the two continents that had begun with the marriage of his younger brother to the Queen of Marmoreal. The Jumpha people were strong, fair-minded folk, brave and true in battle and generally wise and fair in peacetime. They were counted as some of the most honorable people on either side of the Sea. Prince Alastar was tall and well-proportioned, pleasing to the eye. While perhaps not as fierce a Jousting opponent as King Aali was sure to be, Prince Alastar had all the makings of a king. Even though he wouldn't win the Joust, there might be a risk that Regina would take a shine to Alastar and seek to further their friendship. He would have to keep an eye on that.

But of course, all this conjecture was premature at the moment, because if any of these Suitors— himself included— wished to win the hand of the fair Regina, they had to first defeat her Champion in battle.

Her Champion… now therein lay his problem.

That Dafydd Hightopp was hopelessly besotted with his Queen was obvious to all those with eyes. Love would make the Champion a fierce opponent. Dafydd would fight to keep her free of her unwanted Suitors; though surely he must understand that there was no way he himself would ever wed Regina. She would be married to secure alliances or money, neither of which Dafydd could offer her.

He took in the Champion's form again. Tall and broad-shouldered, his Outlandish clothing accentuating rather than masking his muscular body, the Duke of Annwyn was rumored to be an absolute master of combat. According to the tales Vulpez had told, Dafydd had rescued Regina from Outlandish kidnappers, reportedly killing his own brother in the process. No, this was not a man to underestimate.

More than ever, Chase was glad of Afanen's support. She had promised him that she knew of a way to disable Dafydd; not so much as to be suspicious, but enough that Chase could believably win the fight in the combat ring. As formidable a man as the Champion was, he would be eliminated. Once he'd taken the throne— and Regina— Chase's first act would be to dismiss the Outlander from royal service. He couldn't do much about Dafydd remaining in Court; even after he stripped the man of his duties as Champion, he would still be a Duke, and allowed to remain in the palace. He would have to watch very closely to ensure that the man didn't cause a problem.

His eyes followed the Champion as Dafydd stepped in to claim Regina for the next dance [surely three dance in one night was a touch excessive?]. Far from looking annoyed with Dafydd for taking such liberties, Regina instead smiled, her entire face lighting up. There was an extraordinary give-and-take between them; they needed no words to communicate, only a glance, the raising of an eyebrow, a smile in reply. The Queen and her Champion… Tearing them apart would not be an easy task.

Yet, it had to be done. Dafydd held too much influence over Regina, and if gossip was to be believed he had already laid claim to her in body, if nothing else. There could only be one master in Crims, and it would be Chase. He would not allow Regina to set Dafydd up as some sort of substitute king.

Speaking of kings… Chase's gaze roamed the hallway thoughtfully, until his gaze fell upon the figure of the Sapphire King of Witzend. How annoying that the Mad man— who, as Vulpez had been so kind as to inform him, had been the leader of the Resistance against Iracebeth— was now a Royal himself. And married to Alice of Legend, of all people.

He made a mental note to charm Alice, when she returned home from her Oversea trip. After all, he owed her a great debt; she was the one who had dethroned Iracebeth, after all. If not for that, Chase could never have returned home to claim what was his. And anyways, if the woman was going to be his mother-in-law, it would help if they were allies.

Then again, perhaps he couldn't count on Alice's support. Her absence was conspicuous; she was the only monarch of the Alliance of the Deck who wasn't present for the Joust. Given how protective Alice was reputed to be of her daughter, Chase found it strange that she hadn't delayed her diplomatic trip until after the Joust was completed. Perhaps, though, it was a boon that the former Champion wasn't there. If she wasn't present, she couldn't interfere.

But what about the Hatter? Though he'd never been an eager fighter— preferring to resolve conflict over tea— he was still the man who had founded and led the Resistance against Queen Iracebeth. The man had no small amount of skill with claymore or throwing dagger, and he was reported to be a more than worthy adversary. What's more, the Hightopp ancestral lands of Iplam bordered Crims; if Tarrant felt Regina needed him, he could be at Isla Affalin within hours. He was reported to be a doting father; how eager a warrior would he be if his beloved daughter asked him to take up arms on her behalf to drive Chase out?

No, he'd rather not fight; wars were messy. Anyways, Regina would only go up in arms against him if he failed to control her, and he had no plans to fail on that account.

_Dance well, little Queen_, he thought. _For soon you will be dancing to a much different tune_.

* * *

The Royal Hatshop was the center of the Blue Royals' family life. Amidst the cubby holes stuffed full of fabrics, feathers, and folderols, the hundreds of sketches littering every horizontal surface, and of course the dozens of hat stands proudly showcasing finished works and half-completed projects, the Hightopp-Clava clan had loved to gather to relax, enjoy a cuppa, and watch Tarrant work.

The Hatshop was Tarrant's sanctuary, the one place where he trusted himself enough to let loose and give in to his Madness. Many labored under the delusion that Haberdashery was Tarrant's Study, the activity that he performed as a Monarch in order to empty his mind of Important Thoughts. Tarrant allowed the misconception, encouraged it even. The white lie wasn't hurting anyone, and no one needed to know just how often Tarrant needed to surrender to the Madness. No, Haberdashery wasn't Tarrant's Study; it was his Anchorage, the method through he could safely submit to his Madness. All he needed to do was close the doors to his workshop, and he was guaranteed privacy until he re-opened the doors.

Tarrant hadn't originally retreated into his workshop in order to succumb to his Madness. In truth, he had been trying to think. But the problem with being a Hightopp was that one's thoughts inevitably got a bit tangled up with the Madness, until they were one and the same and one had to succumb to the Madness just to find one's thoughts again.

He was a study in motion; flitting back and forth before the dress stand and the shelves, examining a fabric here, throwing a ribbon away in disgust there, snickersnacking and adjusting and crafting while he chased down his slippery thoughts.

He should be in Crims right now. The Suitors' Joust was still ongoing; as both the King Regent of Witzend and as the father of the prospective bride, Tarrant should be at Isla Affalin, accompanying Regina to the ball that was being thrown to farewell the Schiao of Schult, the most recent loser in the combatants' ring. But Tarrant had been getting agitated in the too-crowded rooms, and had left Abraxas in his sister's tender care for the night while he returned to the silence of the Cerulean Castle and the safety of his workshop.

He paused in his work, absently fingering the sapphire blue fabric. A Suitors' Joust… It was so strange to him, thinking of his wee little boy as old enough to marry. In his mind, she was still the bairn he had held for so brief a time, still the shy, lost young woman who had first returned home without any clue of who she truly was. But she wasn't a wee laddie anymore; though only twenty and three-fourths if one counted the Days, her experiences in the Outlands had Aged Regina to approximately twenty-five. If she was twenty-five, then she was older than Alice had been when she returned to Underland for the final time. And if she was older than Alice had been, then she was old enough to marry.

But even if she was old enough to wed, why should she rush into it? It wasn't as though there was any pressing need for a King, or Fates forbid, an Heir. There was no cause to think that Regina's Time was running out, not like Alice…

He lost himself within the creative haze for a long time, running away from that Thought and all its repercussions. No, he wasn't going to think about Alice's shortened Time right now. One calamity at a time. He pinned and adjusted and added layer upon layer of tulle and ran as fast and as far through his labyrinthine mind as he could, trying to escape the eventuality that was the End of Alice's Time. He hadn't come into his workshop to deal with that; he was too preoccupied worrying about the daughter to further fall apart over the mathair.

By the time Tarrant returned to himself, the moon was much lower on the horizon than it had been, and the garment on the stand was starting to take shape. Gently, Tarrant fingered the bodice, which closely fitted the torso before gently flaring out into a full princess skirt, complete with chapel train. His wee little boy would look beautiful in this gown, when it was finished; Dafydd's loving nickname for her, dearbadan-de, would be especially apt if and when they saw her in this dress.

At the thought of his young kinsman, Tarrant sighed deeply, frowning. Why hadn't Dafydd been able to talk Regina out of this Fates-forsaken Joust? Tarrant doubted there was a soul in Underland who didn't know that Dafydd wielded enormous influence over his young Queen, though he rarely took advantage of that fact. Tarrant knew there was no possible way Dafydd could condone this farce; why hadn't he stopped Regina, talked her out of agreeing? Was he willing to risk losing her?

Perhaps, though, he hadn't seen the need. After all, Dafydd was nigh undefeatable in combat, Tarrant comforted himself. If none of the Suitors could best him, then Regina would be freed of all the obligations of the Joust, and there would be no wedding. And if there was no wedding, then there was no need for Tarrant to rush to finish this dress.

Tarrant sighed again, nodding to himself. Yes, that must be it. Dafydd was simply biding his time. And in any case, the Joust would soon be over. There were only a couple more days left to sit through, and then it would all be over, and life would return to normal, where all Tarrant had to worry about was Alice's diminishing Time, minding his son, ruling Witzend until Alice's return, guiding his Hightopps, scheming to push Dafydd and Regina together already, and the occasional tea blend.

With a soft groan, Tarrant returned to his worktable, grabbing the fabric he had so recently abandoned and falling back to work. Maybe he would just hide in his workshop until everything was over.

* * *

The morning of the final day of the Suitors' Joust dawned, to Dafydd's thinking, mercifully early. The sooner the day got underway, the sooner they could put this final contest behind them, and the sooner this mess would be over with.

The past week had not only been nerve-wracking, but aggravating. Regina had risen at dawn every day; this Joust may have been a state-sanctioned holiday for her people, but she was still Queen, and there was still work to be done. After a brief repast at noon, Clover and Azalea would redress Regina in beautiful gowns and dazzling jewels, and she and Dafydd would file into the royal box while the rest of the Court and a good portion of the capital's commonfolk crowded into the stands to watch the Suitors pair off and fight. When the combat was finished, the commonfolk would be provided with a feast out on the lawn, while the Court retired into the palace for another night of dancing and celebrating.

At least it was nearly over now, Dafydd thought to himself. As much as he'd enjoyed the fact that he was allowed to stand directly by Regina's side and in all ways act as her escort for the week, he would be more than happy when the Suitors were all sent home and life went back to normal. The past week had taken a toll on Regina; she was exhausted by the stress of the Joust as well as having to perform her day job. When this was over, he was bringing her to Tearmunn for a few days. She deserved a chance to be soothed by the Music of the Brae and spoiled by her athair.

But before he could spirit her away for some rest and reparation, he had a Joust to win. Instead of breakfasting with Regina, Dafydd had gone down to the arena, to review his weapons one final time. He didn't want to waste any time; he wanted to get this ridiculous week over with.

"You're not actually worried, are you?"

Dafydd glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his cousin's voice. With a smile, he turned, and the two men embraced.

Dafydd had missed Ioan. They had grown up together, and Ioan had faithfully served as Dafydd's second-in-command ever since they both entered the service of the Hassasseen; a post he had retained when they entered Regina's service and became the Fearail. But then Ioan had fallen in love with Lily Palladia, the White Princess of Marmoreal. Her family approved of the match; his didn't. Ioan had been ostracized for his choice; not quite expelled from the clan, but his family made no secret of the fact that they thought Ioan a traitor for falling in love with a member of the family that had exiled them so many centuries before. Finally, Ioan had left Regina's service, and gone to Marmoreal to be with Lily. Dafydd was happy that his cousin had finally found a woman who could tolerate him, but Ioan was his best friend, and Dafydd had missed him.

"Royal pampering suits you," he teased Ioan, stepping back and looking him over.

Though Regina's Fearail were well compensated for their service, Ioan wasn't by any means a rich man, especially not when compared to his royal fiancée. Not that Mirana and Kalen cared about that, of course, but it had bothered Ioan that he wasn't able to provide for Lily as his clan's traditions dictated. Kalen had taken pity on his future son-in-law, appointing him as a captain in the White Army and creating him Margrave of the Ouestern Border. The responsibilities gave the easily restless Ioan something to do, while the noble title kept him close to Court, and Lily.

"Well, it's not a Dukedom, your Grace," Ioan shot back, smirking before clapping Dafydd on the shoulder. "It's almost over."

Dafydd nodded, sighing. As Lily's husband-to-be, Ioan had been permitted into the royal box with his fiancée, which also gave him access to Dafydd and Regina. The cousins had spent the week analyzing each of the prospective Suitors, judging their talents and abilities and planning out Dafydd's counter-strategy against each of them. Ioan hadn't hesitated to inform Regina— loudly and repeatedly— that she was Mad for having agreed to this Joust in the first place, but having him around had helped Dafydd keep calm during the week.

"Who is the last popinjay?" Ioan asked, leaning against the doorframe of the preparation room and biting into an apple.  
"Chase, Lord Hart," Dafydd replied. "A nephew of Vulpez's, apparently."  
Ioan made a face. "That slithy tove? Ugh. Why hasn't Hart been in Court before now?"  
"He was supposedly managing the Baron's estate," Dafydd shrugged.

Despite his dismissive attitude, though, Dafydd had private reservations about this recently discovered nephew. It made much more sense now, why Baron Vulpez had so adamantly pressed Regina to accept a Suitors' Joust. As a mere Baron, Vulpez and his family weren't quite high up enough in the ranks of the Court to be considered as candidates for Regina's hand in marriage, so Vulpez couldn't just introduce his nephew into Court and hope for the best. But if this Chase were to enter a Suitors' Joust and win on his own merits, Regina would be trapped, and Vulpez's importance in Court would catapult. As the patriarch of the King Consort's family, he would wield enormous influence over Regina, and the country by extension. Yes, it made perfect sense to Dafydd why Vulpez had played his cards this way.

But there was one thing Vulpez hadn't calculated, and that was Dafydd. Lord Hart could be the most worthy of men, could be Regina's true soul mate, but there was no way that Dafydd was going to allow the wily Baron to become any more powerful than he already was. He was a member of Regina's Council, and that was quite enough; to grant the Baron anymore power would mean that Regina would be forced to deal with him even more frequently. Dafydd's job was to protect Regina from all forms of harm, and he took that job seriously.

From the shadows of the holding chamber, Dafydd glanced out, his gaze going unerringly for the royal box. Regina was already there; apparently she'd left the noon meal early. Today she was dressed in a gown of flame orange, with long sleeves, dropped shoulders, and an embroidered bodice. The gown shimmered green when she moved, complimenting both her ginger curls and her green eyes. Around her neck and in her ears was amber jewelry set in gold. Instead of a crown, she wore a circlet of flowers and autumn leaves, adding to the illusion that she was a wood nymph.

She paced the length of the box, bouncing her brother in her arms and murmuring to him. Abraxas had enjoyed watching the dueling Suitors, although if the matches went on for too long he did tend to get cranky. More than anyone else, Dafydd credited Brax with keeping Regina in a good mood for the last week; she was incapable of being irritated if she had the baby in her arms.

Lily, Tarrant, and Mary had also seated themselves in the box. Dafydd appreciated the fact that all three of them had stuck close to Regina for the duration of the Joust. With Brax to keep her in a good mood, Tarrant to steady her, and Lily and Mary to make her laugh, Dafydd was cautiously optimistic that they could keep Regina calm for this final match.

"This should be easy, right?" Dafydd asked Ioan, trying to sound casual and not apprehensive.  
"Aye," Ioan agreed. "This Hart holds true to his name; doesn't like direct charges, prefers to feint and dodge. He'll probably try to make you swing and miss, tire you out. If you got a few good hits on him, he probably wouldn't hold up too long. He's built for speed, not endurance."  
"The problem will be catching him," Dafydd said. "I'm not the quickest in the world."  
"No, and your first weapon will be your claymore," Ioan nodded. "He'll have a lot of room to dance around you. Unless you go for the short swords first?"  
Dafydd shook his head. "Claymore until I get tired. If I tried the swords first, I wouldn't have the strength to even lift the claymore later."  
"Fair enough," Ioan sighed. "Your strength against the jackalope's speed. This'll be interesting."  
Dafydd sighed, rubbing his forehead. "As long as I win."  
"Aye," Ioan nodded. "So long as you win, cousin. Otherwise I think Gigi might break her Vow and kill you."

He tried to smile, but the effort fell flat. If he lost… No. That Idea was Unthinkable. He couldn't lose. He wouldn't lose.

A whisper of movement in his peripheral vision made him turn his head, and blink in confusion to see Afanen standing in the doorway, a goblet in her hands.

"Afanen? What are you doing here?" he asked.  
"I came to wish you luck, that's all," Afanen replied, holding up the cup. "Mead, for the conquering hero," she intoned.

A faint smile quirked one corner of Dafydd's mouth as shared memories flew fast and furious between them. Afanen had always loved the stories of the olden days in Underland, of the grand lords and ladies under High King Arturias and his Quarter Kings. Her favorite story had been the Champion's Mead ritual that had been established by King Dafydd and Queen Aisling. Any time Dafydd had left with the Hassasseen on a mission or battle, he and Afanen had played at the ritual, lacing each line with innuendo and promises for his return.

"And if I drink now, what will remain for my return?" he easily returned.  
A faint smile curled Afanen's lush mouth. "Your lady's honey mead," she replied, glancing outside towards the royal box.

Dafydd's smile turned rueful as a dull blush stained his cheeks. He knew that the Court gossiped about what he and Regina got up to behind closed doors, of course, but it was still rather embarrassing for his former Betrothed to be teasing him about it. Especially when he was half-lost in memories of the activities they had once engaged in, closed doors or no.

It was faintly surprising that Afanen had referenced Regina, he thought as he drained the goblet. He was well aware that there was no love lost between Afanen and Regina. And even though he and Afanen were long over with, it was unusual for her to concede a loss so easily. Since when was Afanen alright with the idea of her former lover now turning his attention to a woman that until very recently, most of his clan had loathed as a usurper?

Before Dafydd could really focus on that quandary, the gong announcing the beginning of the final match sounded. Dafydd stepped out onto the field as Ioan led Afanen back to the stands, flexing his hands to check his leather wrist guards. His claymore was securely strapped to his back, his short swords around his waist. Looking across the pitch, he saw that Lord Hart was bearing an arming sword and a shield. Odd; none of the other warriors had bothered with a shield. Then again, if the jackalope's strategy was to block Dafydd's blows, perhaps that made sense.

As Regina's Page Wagtail stepped out to announce the fight, Dafydd glanced up at the royal box. Regina sat front and center, for all the world looking entirely serene and composed. Brax was still in her lap, and together they were playing an Uplandish finger game called Patty Cakes. He smiled faintly, feeling the slight pressure of the Heart Rock in his pocket. _Soon_, he promised himself. As soon as this Joust was over with, he was giving Regina this declaration of his love, and he'd get to work persuading her to marry him. Maybe a year or so from today, her arms would be full of their own bairn…

Shaking his head, Dafydd refocused on the pitch as Wagtail bowed to Regina. "Your Majesty, my lords and ladies, good people," the Labrador barked, inclining his head. "I present to you the final Suitor, Chase, Lord Hart. He will duel with the Queen's Champion, his Grace the Duke of Annwyn, for the hand of our beloved sovereign!"

As Dafydd and Chase took up their positions on opposite sides of the pitch, Wagtail reiterated the rules of combat— it was a match to disarm only, there was to be no bloodshed, la di da de dum. Dafydd tuned the Dog out; enough talking, he wanted to get the fight over with. He rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks as he relaxed. Maybe he shouldn't have drunk all of Afanen's mead, he reflected; she'd always made the brew strong, and it was going straight to his head. He felt looser, more relaxed, and he really needed to be sharp and focused right now. Ah well. Maybe the handicap would make the fight a little fairer for the poor Lord Rabbit.

Moments later, Wagtail withdrew, and the fight began. Dafydd swung his claymore experimentally, and as he'd expected, the Rabbit Lord feinted to the left. Clearly, he meant to draw this game out, to tire Dafydd. Unfortunately for the jackalope, Dafydd was in no mood to play games. He had no time for this; he had other things to do. He wanted this fight over with, and so he pursued his foe, forcing him to defend himself or be skewered.

But the more he swung his sword, the more tired he began to feel. Confusion gave way to concern, which quickly fell back before panic. What was wrong with him? He needed his wits about him; why was he so loose? Mead didn't usually make him this lackadaisical… He swallowed compulsively, wincing at the aftertaste of the mead.

Wait. The mead. The Champion's Brew was traditionally made with the sap of Tumtum trees, which was known for its stimulating properties. He should be a little loose, but not tired. Unless… He swallowed again, experimentally, waiting for the mead's aftertaste to hit him. Ha! There, buried within the usual strong tastes of the wine, was something far too sweet. Moonflower, it tasted like. His wine had been laced with a narcotic… Oh dear Fates.

Dafydd's distraction cost him dearly. The Rabbity Upstart saw Dafydd's moment of mental distraction, and he took full advantage. A clever twist, a miscalculated thrust, and a moment later, Dafydd found himself disarmed.

Wait…

What?

"Cease fight!" the Labrador yelped. "The Queen's Champion is disarmed! Lord Hart is the winner!"

Dafydd stood still, blinking stupidly. Winner? The Prancing Bunny couldn't be the winner…

Dumbly, he stared down at his hands, horrified to discover that they were empty.

Empty…

Oh no.

Slowly, Dafydd raised his head, seeking out Regina. She was staring at him, clearly stunned. She had enough presence of mind not to look horrified, but he could see it in her pallor, in the way her eyes were starting to pale from spring green to a wintry silver-white.

He had failed.

He had lost the fight…

Lost Regina…

He could do nothing but watch as Lord Hart stepped forward to claim his prize. There was no way for Regina to refuse. Swallowing hard, she handed Abraxas to Countess Contrary and descended the stairs from the royal box onto the pitch, accepting the usurper's hand, which he bowed over.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Champion of the Suitors' Joust!" the Labrador barked. "By his deeds he has won the hand of the Queen of Crims, and as such is our future King!"

The crowd burst into cheers. Lord Hart smiled, waving to them. Regina, meanwhile, looked past him, her gaze meeting Dafydd's. For a moment, they merely stared at each other, both too lost in shock to comprehend the enormity of what had just happened.

The Suitors' Joust was lost.

Regina was lost.

It was over.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note**: Okay yeah, that was a little evil. I'm sorry. But the rest of this series depends on the Joust ending this way. I swear, I have a plan. And remember, I keep promising that I will fix everything I break. Eventually. Just hang on with me, okay? This story is far from over.


	4. Lines in the Sand

**Author's Note**: Oops. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to post this. My beta actually sent this back to me over a week ago, but I kind of forgot about it (I was born blonde, if that explains anything). And then, when I remembered it needed to be posted, I held it hostage in an attempt to bring my Muse back. That took a lot longer than I'd planned, so this chapter was hogtied for longer than I wanted. Apologies for that.

Anyways, it's rather short (for me and for this story, anyways), and it's mostly reaction to the last chapter instead of moving things forward. Still, I quite like it, and I hope you'll enjoy it too.

There will be a chapter going up in _Between The Pages_ before I post chapter five. As always with the BTP chapters, it's not strictly necessary to read it to understand the rest of the story; it's just going to be a short(ish) introspection piece for Regina, since I have nowhere else in the course of the Story Proper to put it.

**Special Thanks**: As always, thanks to Ranguvar27 for being a wonderful beta.

* * *

Regina had never understood how her mathair could dismiss everything that had happened to her in Underland as a dream. She was supposed to be Alice the Champion, filled with Muchness and Imagination; she wasn't supposed to doubt the verity of the world she'd fallen into. Especially not when Alice so readily acknowledged Wonderland's superiority to the Aboveground. If Alice had preferred Underland so much, why had she persisted so long in believing it was all a dream?

But today, as Lord Hart half-guided, half-pulled Regina through the palace of Isla Affalin, she understood why Alice might have wished so strongly that her surroundings were only her own imaginings. If everything one saw or experienced came from one's own mind, one retained complete control over what was happening. If one didn't like the direction one's dream was taking, one could simply change it. Or better yet, one could wake up. As she walked through the palace halls with this unexpected and unwanted Champion of the Joust, she found herself wishing she could surreptitiously pinch herself. Then she could wake from this dream.

The fact that this line of reasoning had failed to work for her mama once upon a yesterday was a fact that Regina decided to conveniently forget.

In what seemed like no time at all, Lord Hart halted before the tall double doors that led into the throne room. He let go of her wrist, but only long enough to heave the heavy doors open before he was pulling her inside.

Regina cast an exasperated glance over her shoulder towards her Champion, silently encouraging him to step forward and put an end to Lord Hart's imperious and impertinent treatment of her. But Dafydd hardly seemed to realize she was there, or where he was. He followed along behind Hart, Regina and the Council, looking dazed. Regina supposed she couldn't blame him for being stunned; Fates, so was she. Stunned, bewildered, afraid, angry… How in the names of both worlds had Dafydd failed her?

"So. Now what?" Regina asked, glancing between Lord Hart and the Council.  
"The Joust is over and won," Baron Vulpez said in his silky, slithy voice. "You and Lord Hart shall marry and rule Crims as King and Queen."  
"A moment, Baron," Lord Hart interrupted him. "If we're going to enter into an engagement, Regina deserves to know the truth."

Baron Vulpez pursed his lips, but sketched Hart a shallow bow in acquiescence. Regina's brow furrowed in confusion, and a glance at her other Councilors revealed that they shared her consternation. The truth? What on earth could that mean?

"Lord Hart?" Regina asked, confused.  
He shook his head. "My name isn't Chase Hart. It's Jack. Jacoby Praecordia, to be precise."  
"Praecordia," Regina repeated blankly. "As in…"  
"As in, Iracebeth's dynasty," Chase— Jack— nodded. "She was my mother."

Jack's announcement was met with silence. Regina didn't speak; couldn't. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Her mind squealed to a halt, sputtered, then flew in a million directions, trying to understand what had just been said.

"Iracebeth's… but… Her entire line was wiped out," she stuttered, frowning. "That's why I have the throne, because she killed her entire family."  
"My father managed to smuggle me to safety," Jack said.  
Regina shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Why didn't you come forward when I first took the throne?"  
"Because I wasn't in Underland," Jack replied. "Like you, I was raised in London."

He tilted his head at her, as though she were a particularly complex puzzle he was attempting to solve.

"When are you from?" he asked abruptly.

She blinked, taken aback by his question. Not _where_ are you from, but _when_. Well, she supposed her accent gave her away as having once been English; even after three years in Underland she had still kept the cultured English accent of her aristocratic breeding. Unless of course she was Mad; then she would slip into an Outlandish brogue to rival her da's.

"If you mean what the year was in the Aboveground when I came to Underland, it was 1895," she replied carefully. "Shouldn't you know that? Surely not that much time has passed since I left."  
He gave her that look again, the one that seemed to try to decipher her. "It was 2009 when I left," he shrugged. "Time being who he is, there's no telling whether he's flowed backwards or forwards at this point."

She barely heard him through her shock. 2009? But… But that meant…

She sank slowly onto the stairs that led up to her throne, her gaze unfocused as her mind struggled to understand what Jack was telling her. If he was from 2009, that meant that it was no longer 1895. Which meant that Time, the slurvish scrum, had moved on. Which meant that her entire world Above was gone, and everyone she had known… Lady Ascot, Mary, Hamish, Lottie, Papa Richard… they were all… they had all…

She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes and struggling for composure. This was not the time to grieve. This wasn't even the time to comprehend her loss, if what Jack said was true. There would be time to mourn her lost loved ones, but that time was not now. Right now, she had a rival Prince and an unwanted engagement to contend with.

"Again I ask, where does this leave us?" Regina asked, forcing herself to return to the task at hand. "If you are who you say you are, then you have a claim to my throne."  
"I already claimed the throne when I won the Joust," Jack replied. "Which reminds me." He turned towards Dafydd, a faint, cold smile on his face. "Because I defeated you, I won your title as Queen's Champion. As such, you are bound to step down."

The breath stilled in Regina's throat, and she felt herself grow pale and cold with dread. What? No one had ever told her that Dafydd could be dislodged as her Champion. Even if the Impossible had happened, and Jack had defeated Dafydd in battle, how could he possibly think he could replace Dafydd as her Champion?

"But you can't," she blurted out, panic starting to override her surprise. "Dafydd spoke Vows to me, unbreakable Vows. The Heart of Crims stood witness. Just because you won the Joust, that doesn't mean you can break his Vows-"  
"You haven't read the law very closely, then," Jack interrupted her, before turning to Leferidae. "My Lord Tenniel, do I not speak the truth?"  
Leferidae frowned, but answered reluctantly. "The Champion's Vow is unbreakable, unless another claimant to the title defeats the Champion in battle. When that happens, the former Champion's vows are dissolved."

Regina gasped softly as she felt the first chill fly up her spine. No… oh no. She was going to be separated from Dafydd? No. She had never wanted this. Even if she had agreed to the Joust, it had been on the assumption that Dafydd would still be close by, still protecting her. But if he was no longer her Champion? No. This was too high a price to pay.

"No one is saying he can't remain at Court," Jack said smoothly. "Dafydd is still Duke of Annwyn, of course he's welcome to remain here."  
"No," Dafydd said faintly.

Any vestige of warmth left in Regina's body fled at Dafydd's soft declaration. No? What did he mean, no? He had promised he would stand by her, sworn to keep her safe… what was he doing?

"Dafydd?" she asked shakily, feeling the blood drain from her face.  
"I'll go home, to Annwyn," Dafydd said, still sounding dazed and distant. "I've been gone too long."  
"Dafydd," Regina said shakily, taking a step towards him. "What are you saying? You promised…"  
Dafydd looked down at her, and the look in his beautiful blue eyes stopped her cold. "Gia," he nearly whispered. "Let me go."

Her heart shattered. He wasn't Mad and vitriolic this time, but he was rejecting her again. After he'd sworn solemn Oaths and Vows to never leave her, now he was backing out of all of them. He'd lied, then, when he told her he'd stay. He didn't want her, didn't love her, wouldn't stay.

She might have yelled, might have forced him to honor his Vow and remain by her side. She likely would have… had he not called her Gia. That was his private nickname for her, one which before now he had only ever used when they were completely alone. In their most private moments, when it was just the two of them and they were being completely sincere with each other, she would call him Dai, and he would call her Gia. She might not have believed that Dafydd meant what he said, except he had used his name for her. He was serious; he wanted to leave her.

"Of course," she whispered. "I'll order your things packed immediately."

She took a shaky step back from him, not daring to breathe for fear that her next inhalation would be a sob. She held herself very still, trying to keep from shaking with the force of the tears she was holding back. She clenched her fists, pausing when she felt the heavy weight on her left hand. When she registered what it was, she felt her heart break all over again. With trembling fingers, she removed the silver and amethyst butterfly ring, holding it out for Dafydd to take. His fingers nearly scorched her chilly palm as he took their— his— ring back, but if he noticed how cold she suddenly was he gave no sign of it.

He bowed over her hand before turning and walking away. With every step, she felt her heart being pulverized into smaller and smaller shards; as the chasm between them grew, she felt the Cold seeping into her skin, her blood, her bones, her very soul. Perhaps she might have been able to endure an arranged marriage, if Dafydd had still been beside her, but without him she was weak and alone, afraid and so very cold.

"I'm sorry he chose to leave," Jack commented as the door closed behind Dafydd. "I understand the two of you were very close."  
"Yes," Regina replied, in a daze. "I thought we were."

With a monumental effort, she pried her eyes from the doors, returning her attention to Jack.

"You've won the right to serve as my Champion," she said distantly. "But if you think I'm going to just hand you the throne because you claim to be Iracebeth's son, you have another think coming."  
Jack held up his hands. "Peace, Regina. I have no desire to go to war with you. What will pacify you?"  
"We shall take this matter to the High Queen," Leferidae cut in. "Even if you are Iracebeth's heir, your claim to the throne may have been nullified by the Heart choosing Regina. The Queen shall hear the case and make her ruling."  
"Of course," Jack nodded. "Shall we leave for Marmoreal now?"  
"Are you daft, boy?" Rhonwen spoke up. "There are still guests in the castle. The Joust is won, but not over until tonight's farewell ball. Host the ball jointly, that's your due as the Joust's Champion. Send the guests home tomorrow, then we'll away to Marmoreal."  
"Very well, then," Jack said. "Regina?"  
"What? Oh. Yes," Regina said faintly. "Yes, thank you, Rhonwen. Let it be done. Excuse me, I…"

Feeling lightheaded, Regina withdrew, staggering out of the throne room and drifting down the hall. She walked through the castle in the daze, motivated only by a faint need to get to her Looking Glass. She needed her athair; Tarrant would make sense of this Madness, would make everything alright. If only she could make it to her chamber…

She was halfway down the hallway when she collapsed in a faint, falling into blissful, numb darkness.

* * *

Dafydd staggered through the halls, trying furiously to keep upright even though his head was so fuzzy and dizzy that he wasn't entirely certain he _was_ upright. He groaned as he leaned against the wall; something was wrong. Very, very not right. Moonflower was a powerful narcotic, yes, but it should've just dropped him like a Bandersnatch. It shouldn't be affecting his motor functions like this, and this was most certainly not how mead affected him.

Why was the world so fuzzy? He was quite certain sounds didn't always echo in his head like this, and normally his head wasn't so very high above his feet. Head over feet… head over heels… He was head over heels for Regina, but it didn't feel like this…

Regina… Regina was gone. Regina was lost. Regina was cold… She'd been so cold. Why was she so cold? She was only cold when she was Frozen with fear… Afraid? Why was she afraid of him? He hadn't threatened her. Unless… had he gone Mad again? Maybe he was Mad now. Granted, this wasn't the way his Madness worked; there was a distinct lack of drumming, and the world got sharper when he was Mad, not fuzzy…

Fuzzy… maybe the Cat had decided to take a stroll through his brain. He wasn't sure she could do that, but it seemed like a very Witzend thing to do, didn't it? It had been a long time since he'd seen the Cat, or heard her particular brand of contempt. What had he done to anger the Cat so much that she was taking a walk through his mind? Was she looking for Regina in there? Regina wasn't in there. Well, alright, she was. In his mind, in his heart, in his every action. But Witzend couldn't have that Regina, that was his. If she wanted Regina she'd have to leave his head and go back to the throne room.

Why wasn't he in the throne room? That's where Regina was, and he was always supposed to be right next to her. Because he was the Champion. Wasn't he? No, he wasn't, the Bunny Lord was. The Rabbit who wasn't a Hart, because he was a Heart, and would rule the Heart and have Regina's heart and oh no he did not, because Dafydd held the Heart Rock and that meant that Regina had his heart and he was supposed to have hers in return, so why was this False Hare trying to steal it?

He went to reach into his pocket to reassure himself that he still had the Heart Rock, but his fist was clenched around something. He frowned down at his fingers, slowly opening them and staring at the trinket he held. Well, it was purple, but not the right shade or shape. This was shaped like a Ring. Why did he have a Ring, he was looking for a Rock! And anyways, this was Regina's Ring, like it was her Rock and why did he have either of them? Neither was his anymore.

Where was Regina? Why was she so cold? He could warm her up… he knew of quite a few possibilities and he'd really like to try them out with her… Everyone already thought he did, and if Collective Mental Dafydd got to warm Regina up, why shouldn't he get to, as well? It wasn't fair, to be bested by his mental construct. And he was so hot; it felt like his blood was fire in his veins. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead; if he got any hotter he would start steaming. Wouldn't that be a sight...

This Ring should be back on Regina's finger, and the Rock should be around her neck. And Dafydd would see about getting both where they belonged, if he could just remember why he was standing outside instead of in the throne room, kicking the Jackrabbit and Vulpez out the bloody window. Why had Regina stopped him, again?

"Dafydd?"

He turned at the sound of his cousin's voice, but his feet wouldn't cooperate with his far-too-high-up head, and the ground was suddenly very friendly because it was coming up to meet him, but before he could say hello everything went black.

* * *

Throwing down her Jubjub feather quill, Alice yawned, stretching her arms overhead. The _Horizon_ hadn't even completed her journey over the Sea to her first port of call, but Alice was already furiously busy— writing the necessary letters to install her diplomats in their new posts, preparing To Do lists for herself, drafting trade proposals between Witzend and Accor, the first country she would be visiting. On top of that, there had been daily communications via Looking Glass with Tarrant, Regina and Mirana. There had been times where Alice felt as though there weren't enough hours in the day to accomplish everything she needed to do— and she had only been gone a week! How much worse would her workload become when the trip really got underway?

Shaking her head, Alice stood, yawning again and shaking out her nightgown and overrobe. There was time enough to worry about this tomorrow; right now, it was late, and Alice had done everything she could tonight. Stretching again, Alice left the desk where she'd been sitting hard at work since supper, moving towards her bed and a much-deserved sleep.

And then a ripple of shimmering silver-white light coming from the wall arrested her. Sleep would have to wait a while longer; she had been waiting for this Call. She was surprised that it had taken Tarrant so long to contact her and let her know the results of the Suitors' Joust; Alice had been on tenterhooks all week long.

"Good evening, Hatter," she said, dragging a chair towards the Looking Glass.  
"Hello, My Alice," Tarrant said, running a distracted hand through his hair. "I'm sorry to be Calling so late."  
"It's alright," Alice said, frowning as she took in Tarrant's appearance. "Tarrant, is everything alright? You look unsettled."  
Tarrant sighed. "I'm afraid things are very unsettled right now. May I come through?"  
"Of course," Alice blinked.

She jumped up, dragging the chair back and standing out of the way. She watched, fascinated, as the surface of the mirror began to ripple and distort, creating peaks and valleys that eventually formed an image of Tarrant before he stepped through the mirror and onto her ship.

She smiled, walking forwards. "I hardly ever get to watch someone else walk through the Looking Glass. It's quite an odd experience."  
"Yes, I suppose it is," Tarrant said, drawing Alice into a hug. "Hello, Teacup."  
"Hello, Raven," Alice sighed, relaxing into Tarrant's embrace. "What's wrong? Do I need to come home?"  
"No… Yes… Well, I don't know," Tarrant said, frustration leaking into his voice as his eyebrows twitched in agitation.  
"Oh dear," Alice sighed. "Perhaps you'd better sit. I'll ring for some tea and you can explain everything."  
"Thank you, My Alice," Tarrant sighed.

Alice quickly rang for a servant while Tarrant threw himself into an overstuffed armchair with a muttered apology to the furniture for being so violent. Watching him, Alice bit her lip; something must truly be frustrating Tarrant if he was taking it out on the furniture.

"Yes, your Majesty?" Fishings asked when Alice opened the door.  
"A pot of tea please, Fishings," Alice requested. "A strong brew, mind."  
"Yes, Queen Alice," Fishings replied, quickly turning tail and heading for the galley.

As she waited for Fishings to return with the tea service, Alice busied herself with carrying a suitable table and chair over to Tarrant, and then rounding up a tablecloth.

"We'll have a lovely tea," she hummed. "And for once, I'm not late! It seems rather late to begin a list of Impossible Things, but I suppose I can save this for tomorrow morning."

She had expected Tarrant to agree and proclaim what a saganstitute she was, but she was disappointed; Tarrant said not a word. Instead, he sprawled low in the chair, staring at the Looking Glass blankly as if it held a clue to easing his Mood. Alice sighed, now fully convinced that whatever news Tarrant was bringing, it was going to be unpleasant. Finally, Fishings returned with a tea service. Alice snatched it from him, dismissing him quickly and almost running over to the makeshift tea table; surely Tarrant would explain what was happening while he prepared them a cuppa.

"Tarrant, is everything alright at home? Regina and Abraxas are both alright?" she asked anxiously.  
"Fine," Tarrant said, his brow furrowing. "They're fine. Well… Not quite fine. Regina is quite a bit Not Fine. In fact, she's rather unhappy."  
"What? Why? What's happened?" Alice asked, trying to curb her impatience and to wait for Tarrant to tell her in his own time.  
"It's the Suitors' Joust," Tarrant said. "It's been won."  
"As we knew it would be," Alice said, holding her teacup out for Tarrant to fill.  
"That's the thing," Tarrant shook his head, pouring. "Dafydd lost."  
Alice blinked, the sugar tongs suspended halfway between the bowl and her cup. "I'm sorry?"  
"He lost," Tarrant repeated.  
"I don't understand," Alice frowned. "If Dafydd lost, who won?"  
"An Uplander. Only, he's not really an Uplander," Tarrant frowned, his eyes beginning to yellow. "Or a Rabbit."  
"A Not-Truly-Uplander Not-Rabbit?" Alice asked, feeling more confused by the second. "What does that mean?"  
"Did yeh know the Red Queen 'ad children?" Tarrant burred, gripping his teacup.  
"I… no," Alice gasped. "Mirana told me she had been married, but she never said anything about children."  
"Aye, she had bairns," Tarrant frowned into his tea. "Five o' 'em. Una, Primus, Secundus, Dua, and Jacoby. Jack, fer short."  
Alice blinked. "Jacoby? She named the others One, Two, One and Two, and then Jack?"  
"'E was the Jack o' Hearts, luv," Tarrant explained.  
"Oh," Alice said weakly. "What… happened?"  
"Off wi' their heads," Tarrant said darkly.

Alice gasped, one hand flying to her throat. She couldn't imagine what kind of Madness must have possessed Iracebeth to murder her own children. More than ever, Alice sent a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that she was dead.

"It happened after th' Horunvendush Day," Tarrant said, his eyes unfocusing as he fell into the tale. "She got it into her bluddy behg hid that the children were gonna start a revolution, try 'n o'erthrow her, get their da to help. Well, she wouldn't have that. She killed 'em all. There were rumors that the King'd got Jack out, hid 'im wi' Time's help… But it was just a story. We never found hair nor hide o' 'im, and we all assumed him dead."  
"But what does this…" Alice trailed off, her eyes widening. "The story was true. Jack did survive."  
"Aye," Tarrant nodded. "Aboveground. He survived, an' returned to Underland and won the Joust."  
"And won back his mother's kingdom. One fell swoop," Alice said weakly.  
"Aye," Tarrant nodded again. "Regina said 'at they're gonnae Mirana tae establish Jack's identity," Tarrant burred. "If he is fa he says he is, they'll hae Mirana decide fa has th' reit tae rule."  
"But Jack was dispossessed," Alice pointed out. "Surely Regina's right to the throne takes precedence."  
"I dunno if she will, Mah Alice," Tarrant said heavily. "Jack's got Blood rights to the throne."  
"Surely there must be something," Alice said stubbornly.  
"I hope so, Teacup," Tarrant sighed. "As much as I'd love to have Regina home again, she's the Queen of Crims now. The Queenmaking Vows are supposed to be indissoluble, but if a Blood heir's been found…"  
"Oh dear," Alice sighed, leaning back in her chair.  
"Aye," Tarrant nodded.  
"And what about Dafydd?" Alice asked.

For a long moment, Tarrant stared moodily at the Looking Glass, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he gently swirled his tea in the cup.

"He'll ne'er be able tae ask 'er," he said bleakly. "Nae noo. An' Jack dissolved Dafydd's Vaw. He's nae longer Queen's Champion."  
Alice blinked. "Can he do that?"  
"Aye," Tarrant nodded. "He won Dafydd's title when he won th' Joost. Dafydd chose tae gang back tae Annwyn."  
"Well… maybe that's for the best," Alice said hesitantly. When Tarrant looked at her sharply, she hurriedly continued. "Regina's been pining for him for so long, and he's never put forth a suit. She's been miserable. Maybe now she can move on with her life, get over him…"

Alice trailed off, not needing the sardonic Look Tarrant was gracing her with to know that her words were absolutely ridiculous. They both knew better than to believe that Regina would be able to easily recover from her first, now lost, love.

"Do I need to come home, Tarrant?" Alice asked again, gently.  
"I dunno," Tarrant sighed heavily. "Jack's bin polite enaw, but if he's anythin' loch his mammy he willnae gie up. Regina certainly willnae lit 'er thrain go. The lines're about ta be drawn in the sand, Mah Alice. I dunno what'll come then."


	5. Springing Into Action

**Another Apology**: So once again, I have to apologize for my long leave of absence (it's kind of becoming a running theme for me). I could give you a long-winded explanation of where I've been, but I doubt you're that interested and I can sum it up in eight words: job hunting and complete rewrite of Book Three. I'm happy to say that job hunting is no longer an issue, and I can now write during my commute and down time at work, so hopefully editing will happen more quickly from here on out. But I do apologize that I've been so incredibly slow to post this Book.

**Author's Note**: Y'know what, see the end of the chapter for my notes. Spoilers, and all.

**Images**: Remove all spaces.

Dafydd's mansion: dreamhomedesignusa jpegs/ French % 20 ChateauR. jpg  
Regina's ballgown (you can imagine the rest): 25. media. tumblr eff 695 a 3057 59655347 af 084 a 907/ tumblr_ mg 82 iejaGA 1 rhicuuo 1_ 400. jpg

**Special Thanks**: A million thank you's to my dear friend Sandra, who patiently let me rant via Skype for a ridiculous amount of time about how irritating I found Dafydd in this chapter, as well as letting me bemoan the fact that I didn't think through anything I was doing before I tried to write it. She helped me figure out all the details on everything in the latter half of this chapter, and I truly owe her.

And as always, a million thanks to my wonderful beta Ranguvar27 for giving this chapter a good beta'ing!

* * *

When thinking of her child, Alice had always held the mental image of an energetic hurricane of vibrant colors flitting constantly through a landscape of bland, featureless whites. Almost as if Regina fed off of the energy of color, and drained it from her surroundings in order to survive. Or perhaps it was simply that her environment simply wasn't colorful enough to keep up with her, and so seemed flat and white by comparison.

Looking at her daughter now was almost like looking at a living recreation of Alice's metaphor. Marmoreal was a lovely place, truly, but it was called the White Castle for a reason. Regina did appear to be floating in an ocean of white. But ths personification of Alice's mental construct was distorted, like a painting where the proportions are off by a hair. Regina was a blur of color, true, but there was no energy to her tonight. Instead of drawing the colors out of her environment, it was almost as though the process was working in reverse; that the white marble of Marmoreal was leaching Regina's color and life essence from her.

Alice sighed softly, reaching for the tea which was now lukewarm as she observed her baby. They had been talking now for nearly two hours, ever since Regina got settled in her suite in Marmoreal. She and Jacoby had arrived in Mirana's queendom earlier that afternoon in order to ask the High Queen to settle the matter of who held the rights to the throne of Crims, Regina had told her mathair. She had told Alice all about the Suitors' Joust, and of her decision to go through with the Betrothal to Iracebeth's son. But upon finishing her tale, Regina had lapsed into the brooding silence that now choked them both. They had now sat for some time in silence, Alice watching her little girl as Regina stared off into the distance.

Finally, Regina heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. "Oh Mama, what am I doing?" she asked, her voice little and tired and sad.

Alice's heart ached as she sat in her armchair, separated from her daughter by the Looking Glass. Regina sat curled up on her davenport, supporting herself against the arm of the couch with her head resting against her arm. The look on her child's face was so bleak and lost, near hopeless. It pained Alice to see her daughter so desperately unhappy. Hadn't Regina been through enough of that in her life?

"Why did you do it?" she asked gently. "I know that you… how much you care for Dafydd," she said carefully. "Why not propose to him? You're a Queen, you have that right."  
Regina shook her head slowly, her beautiful gold-flecked green eyes filling with tears and turning grey with sorrow. "I can't be that selfish, Mama. He doesn't love me. I won't trap him in a marriage he doesn't want just because I want him for myself."

Alice bit hard on her tongue to keep from speaking. Was Regina really so naïve that she couldn't see how desperately Dafydd loved her, or had she willfully blinded herself? Alice couldn't truthfully say that Dafydd was her favorite person in the world, or that he was the first man she would have chosen as a son-in-law, but she couldn't deny how utterly perfect he was for her daughter. Why was it that the only two people who couldn't see this were they themselves?

"So you're willing to marry Jack," Alice said slowly.  
"Maybe it'll be for the best," Regina said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "I don't love him now, but maybe I will, someday. That's been known to happen in arranged marriages. I can still make this work."  
"Of course you can," Alice nodded reluctantly, a sour taste in her mouth.

She didn't want to agree with her daughter. After all, Alice's fateful third visit to Underland had happened because she'd been running away from an arranged marriage. How could Alice of Legend, Champion of Underland and possessor of so much Muchness, condone and even implicitly support her daughter settling for less than she deserved? How could she let her child settle for a lackluster, unwanted wedding when she was so achingly close to her true love?

But how could she do anything else? Despite her question, Regina wasn't asking Alice for advice. She was unhappy, but she had made up her mind. And if Regina was going to follow her Head instead of her Heart, what could Alice do about it? She wanted the best for her daughter, but she couldn't force Regina to follow any path. All she could do was support her daughter's choice and hope for the best.

* * *

Mirana sat back in her armchair, pressing cool fingers to her fevered temples. The words on the page of the book she was studying were running and blurring together; her thoughts were similarly blending into a muddled mess.

"I don't think I can read anymore," she sighed, closing her eyes against all the words.

There was a soft rustling, and the sound of approaching footsteps, and then Kalen's hands were on her shoulders, tenderly massaging out the tension that had accumulated there over the past several hours. With a grateful sigh, Mirana relaxed beneath her husband's ministrations, allowing the events of the past day to sink in.

From the instant Regina and her new Suitor had approached her throne with the explosive revelation that Chase, Lord Hart was actually Crown Prince Jacoby of the Elder House of Praecordia (as Iracebeth's line was now known), Mirana had been mired in a fog, stunned and struggling to accept what this meant.

It seemed Impossible, Mad to believe that Jacoby was alive, Mirana repeated to herself for the hundredth time. Everyone in Underland knew that Iracebeth had executed her husband and their children when she became suspicious that they were planning to side with Mirana against her. True, no one had seen the executions, and Jacoby's head had never been found floating in the moat beside his father's and siblings'. But neither hide nor hair had ever been seen of Prince Jacoby again, and thus everyone had believed him dead.

But clearly, not only was the Jack of Hearts not dead, he was very much alive. Alive and safe, thanks to the machinations of his father. King Crispin had never, to Mirana's knowledge, been the scheming sort. Iracebeth had married him for the sole purpose of providing her with heirs; apart from that service, poor Crispin might as well have not existed. And yet, apparently he had had the backbone to save his eldest son and heir from Iracebeth's murderous clutches. Mirana had no idea how he had managed it, but she silently thanked her deceased brother-in-law from the bottom of her heart. Mirana had always considered the fact that she had been unable to save her nieces, nephews and brother-in-law to be her greatest and bitterest failure; it was because of their murders that she had taken her White Vow. It was a miracle that one member of her family had survived, and Mirana thanked Underland for it.

Still, Jacoby's survival, while incredible, did pose a problem to Regina's claim to the throne. Regina had been ruling, and ruling well, for nearly two years, but the Law clearly stated that Blood heirs took precedence over Bonded heirs. The Law, and even Mirana's heart, demanded that she uphold Jacoby's right to the throne. But doing so would alienate Regina, whom Mirana loved as another daughter, and possibly the entire kingdom of Witzend, and that was not an acceptable option.

But could she forgive herself for subjecting Regina to the alternative, when to do so might well break Regina's heart?

"I must confer with the Spirit of Underland," she said softly.

Kalen nodded, squeezing her shoulders gently before stepping back and allowing Mirana to stand. Turning, she smiled at her husband, stroking his cheek in thanks for his care before leaning in to kiss him, his whiskers tickling her face. Humming to herself softly, Mirana pressed her hand flat against the mirrored surface as she whispered her intent, her breath fogging the glass. She took a step back as the glass began to ripple and distort, then drew a deep breath and stepped through the Looking Glass.

_WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE, SHE OF MARMOREAL?_

Mirana shivered slightly. The Voice of Underland was genderless, ancient, and powerful, both terrifying and beautiful to hear. She inclined her head in respect to the ancient power that lay beneath, behind, and within her land. She knew full well that she was really only supposed to confer with the Spirit of Underland at the utmost end of need. For everyday matters, the Spirit had given Underland its Oraculum; to speak with the Spirit directly did not often happen.

"I am in desperate need of guidance," she said humbly. "Jacoby Praecordia has come home. Crims can now claim two leaders, and I don't know who to support— my nephew, who has the Blood rights, or my niece, whom You placed on the throne. I don't want to see Crims fall apart in an internal war."

_WHAT IS ABOUT TO OCCUR IN CRIMS IS NECESSARY, SHE OF MARMOREAL. MY HEART IN CRIMS SEEKS BALANCE AND EQUILIBRIUM, BUT BEFORE THE BALANCE WILL COME THE UPHEAVAL AND THE UNREST. MY HEART MUST DECIDE BETWEEN THE BLOOD HEIR AND THE HEIR OF THE CALLING. THEY ARE BOTH DESTINED TO SIT ON THE THRONE, BUT IT WILL BE CRIMS THAT WILL ULTIMATELY DECIDE WHICH IS THE TRUE RULER._

"Is there nothing I can do?" Mirana asked, her heart sinking.

_THIS IS NOT A DECISION FOR SHE OF MARMOREAL TO MAKE, EVEN IF YOU HAVE BEEN CROWNED HIGH QUEEN. YOU RULE YOUR PEOPLE, NOT UNDERLAND. THE FATE OF THE FUTURE LIES WITH THOSE DESTINED TO SIT ON THE HEART THRONE—THE PUPPETMASTER, THE WHITE BUTTERFLY, AND THE LIONHEART._

"I understand," Mirana said heavily, even though she didn't truly understand at all.

She felt, rather than heard, a strange sort of vibration; almost as if the Spirit of Underland had laughed.

_NO, YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. BUT YOU WILL COME TO, IN TIME._

Mirana nodded once in acceptance, then swept her skirts aside as she sank into a deep and elegant curtsey. After holding the pose for a moment, Mirana rose up, turning and exiting through the Looking Glass again. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing back in her study, facing Jacoby and Regina.

"I thought you were both retiring to your chambers for the night," Mirana said, her brow furrowing in confusion.  
"We did, Aunt Mirana," Jacoby replied.  
"You've been gone all night, and well into the morning," Regina elaborated.  
"Oh dear," Mirana sighed, rubbing her temples. "Time distorts so drastically inside the Looking Glass."  
"Of course," Jacoby nodded. "We were just curious whether you had come to a decision?"  
"I have," Mirana said, squaring her shoulders. "Shall we adjourn to the throne hall, and make this official?"

Jacoby and Regina both nodded their acceptance, and without another word Mirana floated out of the study, closely followed by the younger Royals as she drifted towards the throne hall. She inclined her head to the loitering courtiers, and nodded to her Scribe to begin his note-taking as she settled into her throne.

"In the case of Crown Prince Jacoby of the Elder House of Praecordia and Queen Regina of the Younger House of Praecordia, I have made my decision," she announced, waiting until she had everyone's attention before continuing. "I have consulted the Spirit of Underland, and I have come to believe that the argument of whose rights to the throne supersede the other's is irrelevant if you marry. I will give you one month to make up your minds. In forty days you shall either announce your engagement, or we shall negotiate the Law of Blood versus Bond rights. Do you accept my ruling?" she asked, looking between Jacoby and Regina.  
"It's for my lady to say," Jacoby said, glancing at Regina.

The entire hall was quiet, waiting with baited breath for Regina's decision. Mirana held very still, hardly daring to allow her heart to beat; what would Regina say?

"I…" the young Queen cleared her throat, before drawing a deep breath and standing a little straighter. "I don't need forty days, your Majesty. Jacoby won the Suitors' Joust. We shall wed, and rule Crims together."  
"So be it," Mirana said, suppressing a sigh.

_And so the unrest and upheaval begins…_

* * *

Regina was quiet as the carriage bumped along the road, bearing Jack and her towards Isla Affalin. She'd been quiet since Mirana disappeared into her study last night, but that silence had taken on many shades and qualities over the night and day. When she'd been talking to her mathair, her silence had been heavy and hopeless. Despite Clover and Azalea's best efforts to cheer her, she had lain in bed missing the sounds of Dafydd's breathing, and her silence had become hollow and melancholy, almost mournful. She hadn't slept well thanks to that particular silence; perhaps it was due to her weariness that by morning the silence had softened to simple and resolute.

Yes, she supposed that resolute was the only word for what she was feeling. She certainly wasn't _happy_ about her decision; the simple thought of what she was about to do still left a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach. But what else could she do, walk away from everything she had made of her life? Not a chance. That wasn't an option, and so there was only one path left to her.

The only question now was how in both worlds was she going to explain this to everyone?

Thinking about explaining her choice to her family was daunting. Aunt Mirana had been supportive, as she had expected; after all, by agreeing to this Regina was preserving the peace and preventing another round of devastating war. Baron Vulpez would finally shut up, which in and of itself was a blessing. Rhonwen would be outraged that she had given in. Just the thought of the look on the Hightopp elder's face was nearly enough to break through Regina's silence, to coax a laugh out of her. Her parents would likely be surprised, but Alice had already given Regina her support, and Tarrant would follow suit. And then there was Dafydd…

Ah, yes. Dafydd. The most painful part of this entire situation. Just the thought of her now-former Champion caused an explosion of the _ache_, that strange, hollow feeling in her stomach accompanied by the excruciating twisting in her chest. Oh Fates, how it hurt. Intellectually, she knew that Jack had won the Suitors' Joust, which meant that she wouldn't be marrying Dafydd. But her heart still had not accepted what her head knew to be true. She hadn't even realized just how deeply and closely she had held that dream to her heart, until it had been ripped away from her.

She was going to lose him. No, not _going to_; she _had_ lost him. Dafydd was no longer her Champion; Jack was. She was never going to marry Dafydd; she was going to marry Jack. She would never be Duchess of Annwyn; she would be the Queen of Hearts.

Unless… She could walk away. She could abdicate the throne to Jack. She could walk away from all of this, retire to Annwyn and marry Dafydd. Underland might not even uphold her claim to the throne anyways, since a Blood prince had returned home. If Jack's rights to the throne superseded hers, why not throw in the towel and marry the man she loved?

But on the other hand... Was she really willing to give up her entire future, the Call of Underland Itself, simply because of Dafydd? She knew she was in love with him, knew that his opinion was almost as important to her as her da's… but was he truly important enough for her to simply give up on her Calling, to break the Vows she had made to Underland?

And yet, what could she do about that now, when she had already made her decision?

As she looked up at her castle, gleaming glass and gold in the midday sun, Regina welcomed the cold numbness of acceptance. It hurt less to fight it. She had fought and struggled with her feelings for Dafydd for so very long; maybe surrender was a blessing in disguise. Maybe now she could finally stop hurting, cease longing for something that would never happen. Maybe the _ache_ would finally and forever go away.

"I thought we might throw a ball tonight," Jack commented, glancing at her over the top of the book he'd been reading.  
"Mmm?" she asked, wresting her attention away from the castle and back to him.  
"To celebrate Aunt Mirana's ruling," he elaborated. "And perhaps we can have a little ceremony before the Court. Make our Betrothal official."  
"Of course," Regina replied automatically. "I'll have Countess Contrary arrange everything."

Well, why not, she thought dully to herself, sinking back into the comforting numbness. She'd agreed to bury herself, why not throw a funeral ball. Perhaps out of the death of her true love, she would find rebirth and a happier life.

* * *

Regina had always loved dancing. Even in the Aboveground, where balls were nothing more than thinly-veiled Bridal Markets with debutantes as the heifers and dowagers as the auctioneers, Regina had loved the lilting music and the knowledge that she could dance all night, if she wanted to. Unlike her cousin Mary Ascot and Mary's clique, Regina had never wanted for partners, despite her dubious social standing as a fosterling.

Tonight was no different. Yes, she'd sold herself on the Marriage Auction to the highest bidder, but at present she couldn't bring herself to care. The ballroom was beautifully appointed, the Court Orchestra was still enthusiastically playing, and whatever faults Jack might prove to have, he was a wonderful dance partner. He seemed pleased enough to lead her out onto the floor and show her off, and he generously handed her off to other high-ranking members of the Court. Regina might seriously doubt the wisdom of her course of action, but for tonight she was happy enough to simply dance.

From his vantage point on his throne, Jack smiled smugly, watching his bride-to-be float through the waltz with her leonine advisor.

"Quite a catch, isn't she?" he observed, glancing down to the arm of Regina's throne, where the wizened old Keeper perched.  
"Indeed," Zhithene said drily. "But I wouldn't be so confident if I were you, young Heart. You haven't caught the Butterfly in your strings yet, even if she is dancing to your tune."

Working to keep his face neutral and innocent, Jack looked down at Zhithene again, disconcerted when her crafty eyes held his gaze. It took all of his training to keep from shifting guiltily in his seat. How much did the Keeper know of his plans? What did the Oraculum reveal, and what did she only suspect? More importantly, was she giving him a warning? Would she try to stop him, or would she sit back and allow events to unfold as they would?

"Well then," she said abruptly. "Let's go pin down your Butterfly so she can't fly off when you slip your net around her."

Jack held out his hand, and Zhithene marched up his finger, making herself at home on his palm. Holding the Keeper carefully, Jack walked down the dais, walking through the parting crowd towards Regina.

"Regina!" Zhithene greeted the little Queen. "You're looking well, though I'm surprised to see you without your shadow. Since when does your Outlander surrender a chance to dance with you?"

Regina's pale cheeks flushed, and Jack thought she might be clenching her jaw. But the look was gone almost before he could register it had been there at all. When she spoke, she seemed perfectly composed.

"Dafydd has chosen to retire to Annwyn," she replied. "His family needs him."  
"I see," Zhithene said, and something about her tone made Jack think that she did see, far too much. "Very well then. We shall proceed with the Betrothal. Jacoby, Regina, take hands."

Silently, Regina surrendered her nerveless hands to Jack, rejecting her panic and unease in favor of mindless numbness. The further this went, the more unreal it all felt to her, until she was no longer positive whether or not she was dreaming. Was she really doing this? Was she truly agreeing to marry a man she didn't love, in order to secure a throne she did? Was this right? Was it real?

"I ask you to speak no Vows, for your lives together do not begin today," Zhithene said solemnly. "I only ask you to state your intention to Underland. Do you, Jacoby of the Elder House of Praecordia, and you, Regina of the House of Clava and of the Younger House of Praecordia, intend to unite your royal dynasties and your royal bloodlines in matrimony?"  
"I do," Jack stated.  
"I do," Regina echoed, hoping her voice wasn't as faint as it sounded to her ears.  
"Do you stand here of your own free will, and do you give your consent to this union freely, without any coercion?" Zhithene asked.  
"I do," Jack nodded.  
Regina swallowed hard. "I do."

Well, she reasoned, it was the truth. She had come to this decision herself. She didn't necessarily like it, but she had made her choice, and she would stand by it.

"As I said, you are under no Vows to each other," Zhithene stated. "However, you must know that matrimony in Underland is a sacred thing. To join fully in each others' spirits requires you to forsake all others, to give your heart to no one but your Betrothed. Knowing this, do you still agree to the union you have proposed?"

Really, was Zhithene trying to break Regina's heart? Because if so, she was doing a phenomenal job.

"I do," Jack said, seemingly careless.  
"I do," Regina repeated in a near whisper.  
"Then I declare you Betrothed," Zhithene announced.

As the assembled witnesses broke into polite applause, the tiny Keeper of the Oraculum shook her wizened head, her keen eyes focused intensely on the once and future Queen.

"It is a Fool who chooses the Chariot over the Sun, little pili pala," she murmured. "And yet, you have Hung yourself, and I can do nothing but wait for the Sun to shine again."

* * *

Regina clung to her quiet, her calm, her acceptance. It was easy enough to deny and ignore what had just happened as long as the ball continued. When she was dancing, she could run away from her thoughts, her doubts, her uncertainty about the wisdom of her course. Even when her Courtiers began retiring for the evening, Regina remained in the ballroom, dancing until only she, Jack, and her Council remained.

After a final waltz with Jack— her Betrothed, she reminded herself— she curtsied to him and bid him goodnight, withdrawing and retreating to her chambers. She was vaguely aware that Clover and Azalea had somehow miraculously managed to extricate her from her ball gown (she loved Arianrhod, but some of the gowns she designed were clearly not meant to be taken off. Ever.) and hustled her into a hot bath. But though Regina massaged her sides in relief, glad to be free of the boned bodice and the many jewels that had pressed against her, for once she hadn't felt like surrendering into the water. Hadn't she done enough surrendering for one day? As soon as she was clean, she had pulled on her nightgown and robe, waving Azalea off when the maid tried to urge her to eat something.

"I'm not hungry," she insisted. "Just leave me some toast and a pot of tea, I'll eat it later."

Instead of curling up before the fire with her late (or very early) repast, or curling up to attempt to sleep without Dafydd at the foot of her bed, Regina hesitantly opened the door that separated her bedroom from Dafydd's. Drawing a deep breath in a vain attempt to catch a whiff of his scent, she walked through the doorway and into his room.

Dafydd's chambers had been rarely used. In essence, his rooms were only large storage closets; he'd spent all his time with Regina, and slept in her room every night. So his chambers had never really felt very personal, or held any real touches to proclaim the space his. The servants must have had an easy time divesting the room of his belongings, she mused.

Passing through the barren bedchamber and the empty anteroom, Regina paused before the door to Dafydd's study. Of his entire suite, the study was the only room he'd ever actually made extensive use of. It was also the only room Regina had never set foot in before. Though Dafydd had protested, saying that there was nothing in his life he would keep from her, she had been adamant that he have places that were his own, and completely unconnected to her. His estate in Annwyn was one such place; his study was another. Whenever he'd disappeared into his study, Regina knew to leave him be, because he retreated there whenever he needed to concentrate and get work done. If she was going to find any trace of Dafydd anymore, it would be here.

The Doorknob opened itself at the merest brush of her fingertips. Regina rolled her eyes in exasperated amusement; of course he'd told the Knob to admit her whenever she desired. Shaking her head, she stepped into the study, closing the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent greedily.

He'd only been gone two days, but she already missed him so much. She felt so lost without him; she hardly felt like a whole person anymore. Was she still alive, without him? Could she stand on her own two feet? How could she survive a day without him there, without the million tiny rituals they had created together? And Fates, it had only been two days. How much harder would it be to last two weeks, two months, two years, two decades? If she felt this lost now, how would she feel in the lifetime to come?

Would Jack step in to the void Dafydd had left behind? Would he take over those lost rituals, or would they create new traditions of their own? Was Jack even interested in replacing her former Champion? Regina and Dafydd had always been together because they had to be; their lives had become one because that was how it had to be for a White Queen and her Champion. Regina was still a White Queen, but Jack wasn't merely a Queen's Champion; his life didn't revolve solely around her. He would be King; they would be ruling together, and that would necessitate being apart. What would life be like now?

Sighing, Regina sank into Dafydd's leather armchair. She curled up in the seat, wrapping her arms around herself and imagining that she was in his lap, that he was holding her safe. He had always protected her; would he have kept her safe through this, too?

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting back a whimper. Why had he left her alone again? Why had he lied to her? Why had he rejected her again after promising her he would always be there?

Regina leaned her head against the back of the chair, opening her eyes and willing herself not to cry. A blob of white on the dark desk caught her attention, and she frowned. The servants had already been through Dafydd's suite to pack everything up and send it to him in Annwyn; had they not searched his study?

She reached out and grabbed the parchment, bringing it up to glance at it. This was Ioan's spiky, rushed handwriting, and that wasn't Dafydd's name at the top of the letter; it was hers. Ioan had written her a letter? Why hadn't it been delivered to her? Frowning, she examined the missive; there was no wax seal. Why had Ioan written her a letter, but left it on Dafydd's desk? What was he playing at? Her frown deepening, she began to read.

_Gigi—_

_Dafydd would kill me if he knew I had left this for you. You know how he hates to worry you. But if Rhys and I have to be worried, then it's only fair to pass it along to you. I hope you get this in time, but I don't trust any of the servants enough to deliver this straight to you, without any other eyes seeing it._

_He's dying, Gigi._

_I don't know who poisoned him, or how. But it's working fast._

_By the time you read this, we'll hopefully have him at Annwyn. Briallen's there, and Leferidae's going for Aunt Gwyn._

_Come to Annwyn. I hope I'm overreacting, I hope he'll be fine. But if he's not, if he dies before we can counteract whatever this is… I know you'd kill us if you weren't there to tell him goodbye._

Regina stared at the letter, hardly able to make out the words for the tears in her eyes. Her chest heaved in irregular sobs, but she couldn't breathe; the vise holding her heart was clamped too tightly. Ioan's words resounded through her head, chasing each other until they lost all meaning.

_Dying… poisoned… hope I'm overreacting… if he dies… tell him goodbye…_

She felt her insides freezing, her blood stilling and turning to ice. Cold; she was so cold. But she couldn't Freeze, not now, she had to get to Annwyn before Dafydd died and she lost him…

With a hoarse cry, she fled from the study, clutching Ioan's note in her hand as she raced into her rooms. She ignored Clover and Azalea's panicked questions, ripping open her armoire and snatching her riding clothes.

"I'm going to Annwyn," she choked out, her teeth chattering with Fear and Cold. "I have to go, now, tonight, right now."  
"But why?" Azalea asked, bewildered.  
"Dafydd…" she sobbed, the words freezing in her throat as the first icy tear trickled from her eye. "I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back."  
"But what shall we tell the Court? Your Council?" Azalea pressed.  
"Anything," she said, fumbling the clasps of her cloak with trembling fingers. "I don't care. I'm leaving."

Before Azalea could detain her any longer, Regina flew out of the room, sprinting through the hallways. Even when she got a stitch in her left side and her muscles started screaming in pain, she didn't stop; she pressed on until she burst outside and ran towards the stables. What did it matter if she was Freezing, if she couldn't breathe and the scar on her side was aching? None of it mattered when Dafydd might die before she could get to him.

"M'lady?" a half-asleep stable boy mumbled stupidly, rubbing his eyes.  
"Saddle Sora," she gasped, bending over and trying to gulp in a breath.  
"Now?" the stable boy asked.  
"Yes now!" she snapped, glaring at him. "Don't ask questions and waste my time! I need to go!"  
"Y-Yes Milady!" the boy stuttered, galvanized into action by Regina's unaccustomed harshness.

She paced impatiently as she waited for her Panther, wringing her hands and begrudging every second. She had no time to lose; every second lost was one second closer to Dafydd slipping away from her, increased the chances that she wouldn't get to say goodbye. She wouldn't allow Death to take him from her, simply because Time hated her family!

As soon as the stable boy led Sora out, Regina rushed forward, swinging herself into the saddle and urging Sora on.

"Where are we going in such a hurry?" Sora grumbled.  
"Get me to Annwyn, Sora. Before sunrise," Regina ordered.

She crouched low in the saddle as Sora took off running. _Hold on, Dafydd_, she prayed grimly. _Don't leave me like this, I won't survive it this time_…

* * *

Jack smiled to himself in satisfaction as Regina curtsied and withdrew, leaving him alone with Baron Vulpez, Leferidae and Rhonwen. As the Queen left the ballroom, Rhonwen took her leave, with Leferidae close behind. Once he was alone with his compatriot, Jack nodded, walking up the dais and sitting on his throne.

"That went well, I thought," he mused.  
Baron Vulpez raised an eyebrow. "This wasn't in the plan," he commented, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. "She wasn't supposed to remain in a position of power."  
"Baron, we've already discussed this," Jack said in a bored tone. "I can't very well get rid of her completely. She's immensely popular with the people, and the Heart itself still recognizes her authority. Besides, it legitimizes my position to marry her, and my future plans are much easier if she's my wife. I would've had to marry eventually in any case, and she's the only Royal on this side of the Sea I'm not related to."  
"And if she oversteps her bounds and acts against you?" Vulpez questioned.  
"There's no fear of that," Jack said dismissively. "I've taken steps to ensure her compliance. And no, you may not be privy to those plans," he added sharply. "You need plausible deniability. You just focus on your part, and I'll handle the rest."  
"Of course, your Highness," Vulpez nodded reluctantly.  
"Good," Jack said, waving him away with a curt gesture. "Don't forget, everything must be done by the letter of the Law."  
"Your orders were explicit," Vulpez said, almost completely hiding his irritation. "We will not fail."  
"You'd better not, or I'll get rid of you, too," Jack warned.

After Vulpez exited, Jack stood, drawing a deep breath. By the Trees, dealing with this grasping, greedy Fox-In-Man's-Clothing was tedious. Oh, the man was useful of course, but Jack was looking forward to the day when he no longer required the Baron's services. Now there was a nuisance Jack would enjoy eliminating…

But before he could be free of the Baron, Jack needed to consolidate his authority. Regina had been careful in building several layers up to support her claim to the throne; he would have to be equally careful in dismantling them. He'd already bound Regina to him, and stripped her of her main support; now to remove the Heart's support of her.

Quietly, Jack made his way through the twisting, labyrinthine hallways to Regina's study. Considering how the room was the nerve center of her queendom and the central node of her power, he was surprised to find the double doors unlocked. Then again, Regina had been protected by a great hulking Outlander; Jack supposed that Dafydd made other forms of security redundant. Regina might have cause to regret her utter dependence upon her former Champion in the near future, but right now it was making Jack's work so much simpler.

A quick search of the desk proved that Regina hadn't entirely depended on Dafydd for safety after all. All the drawers were locked, and the object which Jack sought wasn't left out in the open. Perhaps he should have been a little disappointed, but at the same time he approved; victory over an intelligent foe was so much more satisfying.

_Intelligent, but not enough_, he thought to himself, withdrawing a Swiss army knife from his pocket. This particular knife was special; he'd ordered a few modifications to it. Smirking, he snapped open his lock picking tools, and set to work with a will. In short order he'd opened all seven drawers. The royal documents and writing instruments he left alone; there was only one thing in Regina's study he needed. He'd been observing Regina since he arrived in Isla Affalin, and was fairly confident he could predict her movements. She might have been born in Underland, but she'd been raised Above; he was willing to bet she still thought like an Uplander.

Aha! Smirking in triumph, Jack extricated the long, black velvet box from the drawer. He flipped open the catch, withdrawing the stamp nestled within. He was faintly surprised by her royal seal; he had expected the stamp to be an ornate thing, made of gold with a handle of curlicues and whorls, all elaborately carved and likely set with a precious stone. Instead, the small golden disc of the seal was attached to a simple, hand carved wooden handle in the shape of a butterfly. Jack's lip curled; didn't Dafydd's overly intimate nickname for Regina mean butterfly in Outlandish? Had he carved the handle of the seal for her? Fates, he was happy he'd gotten rid of the man.

Shutting the box, he closed all of the drawers again and locked them all. Pocketing the seal, Jack withdrew from Regina's study, picking his way through the castle and seeking an entrance into the underground chambers. As he searched, he silently cursed Baron Vulpez; why hadn't the man managed to worm his way into Regina's confidence? If he'd done that, Jack wouldn't have to waste time guessing where the foundation stone might be; Vulpez would have known exactly where Jack had to go.

Finally, Jack opened a door and sighed in relief; about time. Quietly closing the door behind him, he walked into the chamber, his eyes zeroing in on the foundation stone itself. It was a goodly-sized stone of white marble, threaded with veins of blue. If he remembered his history lessons correctly, both Regina's and Dafydd's blood would be on the stone, binding the castle to serve all those who followed in their bloodlines.

"I'll be back for you later," he murmured, patting the marble stone before observing the Door that led to the Heart of Crims.

It was a tall door, vertical planks bound in iron. The door stood within a free-standing stone arch in the middle of the room, more ancient than the room that contained it. Jack laid a hand on the worn, smooth wood; one of his earliest memories was of his mother showing him this Door, and of the Treasure that lay behind it.

Quietly, Jack exited the chamber, making his way back through the basements until he found a large fireplace. The coals had been banked down for the night, but there was plenty of firewood, and in short order he had a blaze going. Smiling darkly, he tossed Regina's seal into the flames, keeping close watch as the wood caught fire and burned. He waited until the seal had completely burned away to ash, and the golden seal itself had melted, before he tamped down the fire, banking the glowing coals again.

With the seal destroyed, Jack sneaked back to the foundation chamber, pausing only to close the door before opening the Door to the Heart and slipping inside.

Complete and utter darkness; still and close, like a womb… or a tomb. Was he still alive? Did he exist? Was he alone, or was he the darkness?

_You're here…  
I'm home…  
You are mine…  
You are mine…  
Are you hers?  
Am I yours?  
Mine…  
Mine…_

He flew backwards on a sudden gust of impossibly strong wind. He was blinded by light, deafened by a loud bang. When he'd recovered, he found himself sprawled on the floor of the foundation chamber, before the Door. He groaned softly, forcing his bruised limbs to move, cursing as his head spun. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, pausing when he felt cool metal on one finger. Slowly pulling his hands away from his face, he glanced down to see a heavy golden ring sitting on his index finger.

He smiled in triumph. A signet ring; a sign of Power. The Heart had accepted him. He had the strength and power to rule.

"It's good to be King," he sighed.

* * *

**Author's Note**: You know, there was a time when I adored Dafydd. Any time I could slip him into a chapter, I did so, because he was so much fun for me to work with. It got to the point that sometimes, I forgot whether this series was about Regina or about Dafydd.

And then this chapter happened. Now granted, this chapter takes place only about two days after the Suitors' Joust. So it's not like Dafydd's gone missing for weeks and nobody has a clue where he's disappeared to and everybody's panicking because he's vanished. However, it's been a lot of pages in Word since I last focused on him. And he began to notice that for the first time in a long time, he wasn't my main focus. And this irritated him to the point that if I didn't put the focus back on him, he wouldn't allow me to continue writing. Stubborn, demanding Outlander… this is one time that I don't love him for it. Though I must admit, I really enjoyed this plot twist.

But, moving on to other things beyond the stubborn, ridiculous, demanding, infuriating, dying Outlander…

Once again, my beta summed up this chapter better than I ever could, with one single comment: "I don't like Jack." After the string of antagonists I've had through this series who have tried to make me sympathize with them, it's nice to have a proper villain. Moral ambiguitiy be damned, it's fun to have a proper bad guy again.


	6. Worry, Fear, and Chill

**Author's Note**: I had the hardest time editing this chapter, oh my word. I'm shoulder-deep in editing (ie, flat out rewriting) chapter 11, and to have to switch gears and go backwards to edit this chapter was killing me. I couldn't get myself back into everyone's mindsets freshly after the Joust, not when I'm editing a chapter that takes place months later. So my beta really saved my butt here by going over this chapter for me, and I really appreciate it.

**Disclaimer**:

**Special Thanks**: As always, a million thanks to my beta Ranguvar27 for giving this chapter a look-see for me.

* * *

Countess Contrary pursed her lips as she was escorted through the halls towards the Grand Tea Chamber. She had received an invitation to take tea with their Highnesses— which would be an interesting occasion, as Mary happened to know that Regina had fled the palace sometime after her return from Marmoreal. She hadn't returned yet; as Mistress of the Queen's Household, Mary would have been the first alerted. Moreover, when Gigi asked Mary to join her for tea, it was never in the Grand Tea Chamber. When the weather was fine they took their tea in Gigi's private garden; if it was foul they retired to Gigi's pretty, southern-facing parlor. No, this tea wasn't to be taken with Gigi, but with Jacoby, and Mary couldn't say she was too enthused with that prospect.

As Mary entered the Grand Tea Chamber, her eyebrows rose in surprise to see Afanen Hightopp. Now what was that trollop doing showing her face at Court? Rumor had it she'd once been Betrothed to the Duke of Annwyn, but everyone knew Dafydd only had eyes for Regina. Now that the Queen was Betrothed to Prince Jacoby, did Afanen think she could win Dafydd back? Mary would love to see the Day when anyone could wrest Dafydd's heart from Regina's hands. And it'd be quite hard for Afanen to make her conquest from Court; Dafydd had retired to his southern estate immediately after the Joust, and apparently had no plans to return to Isla Affalin.

There were two other women seated at the tea table; one a Countess, the other a Marquess, but Mary didn't know either of them well. Well wasn't this an incredibly random table. How delightful.

The door opened, and all four ladies stood, dipping curtsies as Prince Jacoby entered the room.

"Ladies, please," he waved them off. "Be seated. I've asked you here to honor you, not to be honored. Be at ease."

Mary sat, exchanging curious glances with her companions. The only one who didn't seem surprised to be there was Afanen. Actually, her non-surprise wasn't surprising; Mary had seen the tramp sneaking out of Jack's room in the wee smalls. Well, perhaps Afanen's presence was a boon after all; if Jack intended to keep a Royal Mistress, what was to stop Regina from (_finally_) taking a lover of her own?

"In celebration of my return home, and to honor my Lady Regina, I'm elevating you four lovely ladies to the rank of Duchess," Jack announced, beaming at their stunned silence. "With all the rights and privileges that attend the title, of course."

The Countess and Marquess tittered like agitated birds, laughing and stammering. Jack smiled at them, clearly pleased by their fawning.

"My wife will need companions; attendants, if you please," he elaborated. "Traditionally, that duty is performed by the ranking Duchesses. Unfortunately, due to my mother, we have none at present. Will you accept this? It is so important to me that my Lady be properly attended and diverted. It would greatly ease my mind to have friendly eyes keeping watch over her."  
Mary leaned forward, tilting her head. "If you're so worried about having eyes on the Queen, why did you dismiss her Champion?"  
A muscle in Jack's jaw twitched, but he smiled as he answered. "I defeated the Duke in combat," he replied. "As such, he was obligated to step down. And you can't tell me you thought it proper that he should share her chambers and court rumor and scandal?"  
"Of course it was improper," Mary retorted. "That was his job, to ignore propriety and be with her at all times to ensure her safety. Now that you've released him, you're just going to replace him?"  
"Are you refusing the promotion, Countess?" Jack asked.  
"Not at all," she replied. "You're only asking me to do my job, after all. It just seems contrary, removing one person and installing four in his place."  
"Well, you are the mistress of contrariness," Jack smiled.

Mary inclined her head, acknowledging the point. Jack nodded once in acknowledgment, then rubbed his hands together, a pleased smile on his face.

"I'll sign all the paperwork today," he promised. "You shall all be Duchesses by dusk."

When tea was finally finished, Mary made her curtsey to Jack and beat a hasty retreat, withdrawing to her rooms. When she'd shut herself in her chamber, she walked among her many flower beds and potted plants, losing herself in thought.

It simply didn't make sense. Why did Jack feel the need to have eyes on Gigi? What did he think she would do out of his sight? Did he not trust Regina to stay away from Dafydd, or vice versa? Admittedly, that was a valid concern; Mary doubted there was a force in any world strong enough to keep them apart. Still, his concern was rendered ridiculous, given his liaison with Afanen.

Or was Jack perhaps trying to spy on Regina, remove any chance for the element of surprise? Why? What sense did that make? Queens held power, not Kings. She got the sense that Jack had come up with this Duchessing scheme on his own, without Regina's approval. Was that even legal? What sort of game was Prince Jacoby playing?

Frowning, Mary turned her attention to her plants. She fingered the delicately fluttering petals of a rhododendron, but then shook her head. She was wary, but she wasn't sure this situation warranted a message of _beware_ just yet. Sansevieria, however… Nodding, she plucked one of the waxy, spiky leaves. _I have something to tell you_. Humming absently, she snapped off a stalk of red azalea, which meant_let's work together_. She looked at the small bouquet for a moment, wondering if she should add to her message. After a moment's thought, she added a mottled orange and brown tabbia flower for _I am unsure of my course_. Yes, this should do for now. Nodding in satisfaction, she tied the bouquet together with a length of twine.

Coaxing one her doves from its cage, Mary presented the bird with the flowers. "Take these to Rhys," she requested.

Walking out onto the balcony, Mary released the dove into the sky. Long after the bird had disappeared, she stood at the rail, staring up at the clouds as her thoughts drifted by.

Something about this situation simply didn't sit right with her. Perhaps the captain of the Fearail could make sense of it all. Or he could at least set her mind at ease. Of everyone in Crims, Mary trusted that the Fearail would put their Queen's welfare above all else. If there was something off about Jack's dealings, the Fearail would suss it out and stop it.

* * *

A faint shimmering in her peripheral vision caught Alice's attention and alerted her to the fact that someone had contacted her Looking Glass. Groaning faintly, she stood, setting down her quill and walking across the cabin towards the mirror.

"Tarrant?" she asked as she approached.  
"Not quite," an unfamiliar voice answered.

Alice sat at the tea table arranged before the Glass, studying the stranger who stood in her mirror. Sandy brown hair carefully disarrayed, a suit in an unfamiliar but attractive cut, intelligent eyes, proud mouth.

"You must be Jacoby," Alice decided, observing her future son-in-law with interest.  
"Jack, please," he smiled, bowing to her faintly. "I apologize for my presumption in contacting you uninvited, but Regina's not in at present, and I very much wanted to meet the woman who saved Underland."  
Alice smiled warily, her eyes clouding with memories. "I am sorry, for what happened to your mother."  
Jack brushed her apology aside. "You weren't the one who killed her. She was my mother, but that hasn't blinded me to what she was, what she did. She needed to be stopped, and you did that. I hope to be better than she was."

Alice made a faint noise of agreement as she made herself a cup of tea. Lukewarm, unfortunately; apparently she'd worked through tea time again. Oh, wouldn't Tarrant be cross with her when he found out.

"Tell me about yourself, Jack. What sort of man is my daughter marrying? You grew up in London, I understand?"  
"I did," Jack nodded, pulling up a chair on his side of the Glass and making himself comfortable. "I attended Cambridge, for business."  
"My father was an Oxford man," Alice smiled. "But Regina's foster father went to Cambridge. Did you own your own business?"  
"Indeed," Jack nodded. "My memories of who I truly was didn't awaken until I was at University. Once I Remembered, I opened a business importing and exporting looking glasses. Trying to find a way home, you know."  
"Indeed I do," Alice demurred. "How did you leave London?"  
"Much as it ever was," Jack said. "Busy, bustling, but never quite able to forget its dignity."  
"Of all the cities I've traveled to in my time, I've never found a place to rival London," Alice reminisced. "I do miss it."  
"I daresay you would still recognize it, the passing of Time notwithstanding," Jack said. "And you'd be proud of your Company. There's not as much into politics anymore, but they maintain offices and facilities in practically every major port in the world."  
"How wonderful," Alice sighed happily. "I knew Andrew would do well."

They spent a pleasant hour together as Alice enjoyed her tea. Jack regaled Alice with tales from his past, and they compared his London to hers. Alice looked up in surprise as her clock chimed the hour; heavens, she had scarcely been aware of Time passing by!

"I should let you get back to your work," Jack said. "When will you make port?"  
"It should be within the next few days, if the winds hold," Alice replied. "I have enjoyed our talk, Jack. We must repeat it."  
"Of course we shall," Jack smiled. "And when you return home, I'll look forward to family tea parties."  
"As will I," Alice smiled.

They parted with courteous words, and with Jack promising to convey Alice's love to Regina. As the Glass rippled, Alice leaned back in her armchair, nodding in content. She still couldn't quite grasp the concept of her daughter getting married; it still seemed Impossible that her sweet baby girl should be old enough to take that step. But Alice approved of Regina's choice. Jack had a good head on his shoulders and seemed very sure of himself; he would provide well for Regina. They would work well together, Alice thought; Jack would ground Regina, and she would enliven him. Jack clearly had a good head for business; Alice had no doubt that he would be full of ideas to improve Crims' economy. Yes, together the young Royals would guide their country into a time of great prosperity. If Jack could make Regina as happy personally as they would be professionally, Alice was well satisfied with the marriage, and would readily give her blessings.

Alice glanced back at her desk, making a face at the mountain of paperwork she still had to plow through before the night's end. Quickly making her decision, she turned back to the Looking Glass, pressing a hand against the mirror.

"Tarrant," she called. "Tarrant? Are you there?"

The Glass shimmered obligingly, then cleared to reveal Tarrant in his workshop. The Royal Hat shop was brightly lit, but curiously empty of millinery or haberdashery. In fact, the only project Tarrant appeared to be working on at the moment was a half-completed dress on the work form he'd configured to Regina's measurements.

Alice took a moment to admire the gown he had been laboring over. She could already tell the gown would be a work of art; it was in that shade of sapphire blue that turned Regina's complexion to cream, and each piece of cloth had been edged in black, almost like a butterfly's wing. The dress was strapless with what Tarrant had named a tulip neckline, fitted in the bodice before gently exploding into a full princess skirt. Even with only a suggestion of what the finished product would be, Alice could already tell that Tarrant had once again outdone himself; their daughter would look utterly stunning in this gown. Was he making it as a wedding dress?

Smiling, Alice turned her attention to her husband to congratulate him, but further study dimmed Alice's smile and furrowed her brow in mild concern. Tarrant sat at his work table, but he wasn't doing any work; he merely leaned his chin on one hand and stared into space, his free arm stretched out around their son in something of a protective nature. Abraxas sat atop the table, babbling in his baby language while he played with a pile of buttons.

Brax saw Alice first; his excited squeal and clapping alerted Tarrant to her presence in the mirror. As he turned on his stool, Alice pursed her lips; now what had her husband so concerned?

"Oh, hello Teacup," he greeted her tiredly. "Am I late to tea?"  
"That'll be the day," Alice smiled. "No, I've just met Jack."

At the mention of their daughter's Betrothed, Tarrant's shoulders slumped, and his melancholy appeared to deepen.

"Oh."  
Alice raised an eyebrow. "You don't like him?"  
Tarrant frowned. "You do?"  
"He seems perfectly nice," Alice replied. "Enthusiastic, intelligent, eager to please Regina and provide for her."  
Tarrant made a little scoffing noise. "Oh aye, he sounds like quite the charmer."  
Alice frowned. "Why don't you like him?"  
"Apples never fall far from trees, Alice," Tarrant frowned. "I don't trust him."  
"How can you say that?" Alice asked. "Have you tried to get to know him?"  
"Actions, Alice. Not words," Tarrant replied darkly. "He's expelled Dafydd from Crims."  
"Good!" she exclaimed.  
Tarrant did a double-take, staring at her. "What? Alice-"  
"I know Dafydd is like a son to you, Tarrant, but he never once indicated any interest towards Regina," Alice snapped. "He kept her pining and hurting for two years. She deserves happiness, and if Dafydd isn't going to do anything about it, maybe Jack will!"  
"Are you that blind?" he exclaimed.  
"This marriage could be a very good thing for Regina, Tarrant!" she yelled back. "Don't you dare jeopardize our daughter's happiness because you're blinded by hatred!"

Slamming her palm against the Glass, Alice severed the connection. Huffing in frustration, she stomped back into her bedchamber, muttering in irritation about mad hatters and their paranoia. As she readied herself for bed, Alice vowed to get to know Jack better. Regina had made her choice; someone should make sure Jack received a warm welcome into their family.

* * *

Usually, when Rhys rode through Underland, his face was set in a beatific grin. He adored Underland. After a lifetime of harsh Outlandish desert, the terrain of Underland was a feast of colors and smells and textures. Sometimes, he was positive he'd gotten drunk from sensory overload.

But today, Rhys was blind to the beauties of his new home. Today, his face was set in grim determination, and he pressed his Horse on relentlessly, Mary's message tucked into his belt.

The dove had arrived at suppertime. Rhys and Ioan had been in the den, discussing Dafydd's health and how they would keep the ladies of the house from clawing Regina's eyes out.

"You're sure it was a good idea to leave her that letter?" Rhys had asked.  
The former Fearail had sighed. "He's… he's not getting better, Rhys. She deserves a chance to see him. Whether Gwyn likes it or not, Dafydd chose Regina. She's part of the family now."

Just as Rhys had opened his mouth to reply, the dove had flown through the window, landing on his knee and dropping its burden in his lap. Rhys had picked up the flowers, frowning as he struggled to decipher the message. Rhys' mother Catrin had loved plants; she'd had a gift for coaxing blooms out of even the most unforgiving earth. She'd taught Rhys and his sisters the language of the Flowers, a skill which had gotten him a lot of grief from other boys growing up, but one which more than once had saved his life.

"What is it?" Ioan had asked, leaning forward.  
"A message from Countess Contrary," Rhys replied distractedly.  
Though it hadn't reached up to his eyes, Ioan had managed a smile. "I want you, I need you, come to me now?"  
Rhys had leapt to his feet as he deciphered the message. "Something's wrong at the palace. She needs advice."

Ioan's weak grin had instantly died, and his face fell into a concerned expression. Without missing a beat he had effortlessly fallen back into the role he'd abandoned for Lily.

"Then go," he'd ordered. "I can handle things here. If something's wrong, it might be related to Dafydd getting poisoned. Give Mary your love."

Rhys had rolled his eyes and smacked Ioan upside the head, but he wasted no time in saddling up his Horse and tearing across the Crimsian countryside.

Even though it was full dark and the night air was chill, Rhys pushed on. He was close to Isla Affalin, and he knew the way; he didn't have the luxury of time to waste.

As soon as Marya had passed through the gate to the castle, Rhys leapt out of the saddle, rushing inside and heading upstairs. He fought not to flat-out sprint; that would attract too much attention, and discretion was needed right now. But neither did he dawdle.

Pausing outside Mary's door, Rhys brushed his fingers against the gently snoring Knob.

"Go 'way, I'm sleepy," it muttered.  
Rhys rolled his eyes, but endeavored to be polite. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I just need to know if Countess Contrary is within?"  
"That's Duchess Contrary to you, vagabond," the Knob said snootily.  
Rhys' eyes narrowed. "And it's Captain to you, Knob."  
"Rhys? Is that you?" came a voice from within. "Nobby, if that's Rhys, he's on the wrong side of the door."

With a harrumph, Nobby twisted and let Rhys pass through. As the door shut behind him, Mary ceased pacing and turned to face him.

"You got here quickly," she commented. "I've been waiting for hours."  
"I'm sorry, Mary," he apologized, stepping forward and taking her hands. "I came as soon as I got your message."  
"Not soon enough, the strangeness is already afoot," Mary grumbled, smiling as he pressed kisses to the backs of her hands. "Did you come to find Gigi?"  
Rhys shook his head. "Gigi's safe with Dafydd at Annwyn. Tell me what's happened."  
"Jack's promoted four of us to Duchess," Mary said, leading him to a loveseat and pulling him down with her. "Me, Countess Audra, Marquess Tilvi, and Afanen."  
"Afanen?" Rhys frowned. "Why? She and Gigi hate each other."  
"Jack said he wants us to be Gigi's companions. He doesn't want her to be alone," Mary said.  
"She's not alone. She's got you for company," Rhys pointed out.  
"Afanen is Jack's mistress," Mary revealed.  
Rhys rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised. She likes to seduce powerful men." Then he paused, frowning. "When did she come to Court?"  
"During the Joust, I think," Mary replied. "She must've stayed with Jack, I didn't have to find rooms for her until it was over with."  
"Huh," Rhys mused. "That's… odd."  
"Why?" Mary queried. "Lots of men have mistresses-"  
"No, not that," Rhys shook his head, before taking the plunge. "Mary, were any of your plants disturbed the day of the final match?"  
Mary pursed her lips as she thought. "Yes. Gigi wanted a wreath of goldenberries. When I went to get them for her, I saw my moonflowers had been pruned, and I had fewer poppies." Her frown deepened, before she shrugged. "I didn't think much of it. I gave the Doctor a key to my garden. He uses some of my flowers in his Teas."  
Rhys frowned, standing as he ran a hand through his hair. "Dafydd's allergic to poppies," he muttered.  
Mary blinked. "What?"  
"Mary, Dafydd's been poisoned," Rhys said, kneeling by her. "Poppy juice. Hardly anyone knows he's allergic. Could you find out who harvested your poppies? Maybe I can figure out who poisoned him and why."  
"You know why," Mary pointed out. "Why is anyone ever poisoned? To get them out of the way."

Rhys paused, brow furrowing as he thought that through. A theory slowly came together in his mind, but he kept quiet, not wanting to alarm Mary in case he was wrong. But he'd keep his eyes and ears open, start gathering information. If his theory was right, they'd have to have hard evidence that they were correct, otherwise they could set off rebellions, or worse yet war…

"You've only just gotten home and you've already left," Mary said softly, laying a hand on his cheek and guiding his gaze back to her.  
Rhys sighed, letting it go. "I'm sorry, Mary. My thoughts stole me. I'm here."  
"So you agree with me, there's something odd going on," she said.  
Rhys nodded. "I don't know what it means yet, but we'll figure it out and put a stop to it."

A short while later, Rhys took leave of the new Duchess and headed for his own room. It was too late to return to Annwyn. And besides, he hadn't slept in three days; not since the Joust, when they'd spirited Dafydd out of Isla Affalin. He'd rest, regroup, meet with the Fearail, and worry about the strangeness tomorrow.

"Ah, Rhys, just the man I was looking for."

With a monumental effort, Rhys managed to avoid groaning and rolling his eyes. Schooling his face into an impassive mask that would do Dafydd proud, he turned and faced Regina's Betrothed, sketching him a shallow bow.

"Your Highness," he greeted Jack. "What can I do for you?"  
"I wanted to discuss the Fearail with you," Jack said. "Dafydd and I didn't have a chance before he left."  
"Right," Rhys nodded, pushing aside his weariness with a soldier's discipline. "Your quarters or mine?"  
"Yours will suffice," Jack smiled.

Nodding in reluctant acquiescence, Rhys led the way to his quarters. Most of the Fearail were housed in the barracks. The Deuces, however, all had quarters scattered throughout the palace— a security measure taken by Dafydd to ensure that no matter where in the castle Regina was, there was a Fearail always close by. Though small, Rhys' quarters did have an anteroom-cum-office, and this was where Rhys brought the Prince.

"You're second-in-command of the Fearail under Dafydd, now that Ioan is in Marmoreal," Jack observed. "Since Dafydd has stepped down as Ace of Hearts, that leaves you as next in line. I assume Dafydd gave you the power to make decisions for your men as his proxy?"  
"He did," Rhys confirmed.  
"Excellent," Jack said, rubbing his hands together. "I've been looking over Dafydd's records of the army, and I must confess I was surprised to see how few citizens are in the troop rosters."  
"Any citizen who wants to enlist is more than welcome," Rhys replied.  
"Yes, but they remain in the infantry," Jack countered. "The specialty troops are all Cards, and the royal bodyguards are foreigners."  
Rhys bristled, but fought for control as he spoke. "What are you saying?"  
"I'm saying that the Royal Hearts should be protected by _their_ people, not the Queen's clansmen," Jack said evenly. "We should be presenting our people with a united front, not constantly reminding them that their Queen is… Other."  
"Other," Rhys repeated, folding his arms. "The Queen is Outlandish. Descended from the Hightopps of Tearmunn, a bloodline just as ancient as yours. Underland Itself chose her to rule. How is she Other?"  
Jack held up his hands. "I didn't come here to argue semantics."  
"Why are you here?" Rhys bit off.  
"I'm dissolving the Fearail."

Rhys stared, his jaw dropping as his brain stuttered to a stop. When he was unable to formulate a response, Jack continued.

"I'm creating a new bodyguard of loyal Crimsian men. By all means, your men are welcome to join. All I require is proof of citizenship."  
"You can't do that," Rhys objected, scrambling for words. "You don't have the power. We're the fighting force of the Hightopps, sent by the Blue Royals of Witzend to protect their daughter. We answer to the House of Clava, not you."  
"So you admit you're a foreign force!" Jack exclaimed. "Your services, and those of your men, are no longer required, Captain. And I think you'll find that Crims _has_ given me the power to do that," he added, holding up his hand so Rhys could see his golden signet ring. "You have three days to join the new bodyguard corps, or to pack your things and return home. I await your decision."

Rhys didn't reply. After Jack had left, Rhys remained seated, staring into space. What had just happened? Could this really be happening? What on earth was going on? Numbly, he stood and walked out of his room, heading for the stables. Sleep could wait; they had a dilemma to sort out first.

* * *

Ioan shifted impatiently on the ground as the Looking Glass rippled and distorted. _Come on, come on, hurry up_, he silently ordered the mirror. He'd rushed off to Annwyn without really explaining anything to Lily; he was sure to be in a world of trouble with her. He didn't much fancy an argument when he hadn't even seen her in three days.

"Are you going to explain why you ran off on me and haven't come home in three days?"

At the sound of his fiancee's exasperated voice, Ioan refocused on the mirror, trying and failing to find a smile for her.

"Hullo Lil," he sighed, putting a hand on the Glass.  
"Don't you 'Hullo Lil' me. Explain," she huffed, plopping down on the ground in a billow of skirt while she folded her arms. "And while you're at it, explain why you look like the wrong end of a tove."  
"I haven't slept," he confessed.  
"Since last night?" she asked, cocking an unimpressed brow.  
He shook his head. "Since the last day of the Joust."

At that Lily paused, her face recomposing itself in lines of concern.

"Why not? Ioan, what's wrong?" she asked.  
"Dafydd's dying," he burst out.

Lily froze, her eyes wide. Ioan swallowed hard, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on the Glass as his shoulders slumped in defeat. Up until this moment, Ioan hadn't admitted the truth to himself. He had focused on the fact that Dafydd had been poisoned; he'd refused to accept that his cousin wouldn't be perfectly fine. But it had been three days now— three days of fever and sweats and chills and purging, three days of delirium, of Dafydd being too weak even to suck water from a sponge. He'd quieted when Regina had arrived, but was he truly quiet or had he just slipped into a coma from which he wouldn't wake?

He wanted to curse Dafydd. What was it about Gwynyth's boys, were they all cursed to die young? First Andras, falling in battle against the Centaurs. Then Niall, felled by Dafydd's sword. Was it Dafydd's turn now?

The sight of Dafydd lying so still and pale was terrifying to Ioan. Dafydd was his cousin and his oldest friend. They had wrestled as boys, learned to hunt together, gone into training as Hassasseen side by side. They had always done everything together. Ioan was the only one who could ease Dafydd from his Madness; Dafydd was the only one who could curb Ioan's sharp tongue. What would Ioan do, if he lost his best friend?

Fates, what would become of him? Ioan was a traitor to most of his clan, an outcast from his homeland. Dafydd risked disapproval for falling in love with the Hightopp princess; Ioan was ostracized for loving an Adamasi. If Dafydd died, Ioan would have no family left. Hadn't he already sacrificed enough? Was he about to lose his best friend, too?

"What do you mean, he's dying?" Lily asked.  
"He was poisoned," Ioan said miserably. "He's been awake, but not conscious. He's delirious, Lil. Gigi came and he didn't even realize it, he wouldn't respond to her. I dunno if he'll-"  
"Don't," Lily interrupted him. "Don't even think it. I'll talk to my mother. There must be a cure, Ioan, every poison has a counter."  
"What if there isn't?" Ioan asked weakly.  
"Ioan Hightopp, don't make me slap you," Lily said firmly. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"  
"The bullheaded pain in my scut," he said fondly.  
"Exactly," she nodded. "I'll find a cure."  
Ioan frowned. "You don't even like Dafydd."  
"Gigi loves him," she said simply. "I don't know what it is about you Hightopp men, but you're very hard to resist."

Ioan smiled faintly, tracing his fingers over Lily's features in the mirror. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his palm; he swore he could feel her warmth through the glass.

"I'm going to go," she said a moment later. "The sooner I talk to my mother, the sooner you'll be back where you belong."

Ioan hunched over as the Glass rippled, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his fists as his eyes unfocused.

_Back where you belong…_

He knew he needed to return to Marmoreal. The White City was his home now. He'd left both Tearmunn and Crims, and perhaps he shouldn't be interfering with matters that didn't concern him.

But… he _was_ where he belonged. Taking over for his ailing cousin, holding the family together, acting as head of the Fearail… this was what Ioan knew. This was who he was. What was he doing in Marmoreal? Who was that Ioan? In Marmoreal Ioan had no influence beyond the title Mirana had arranged for him; no importance or connections. In Marmoreal he was just an outcast who was going to marry a princess.

Ioan loved Lily. Fates, of course he loved her; look at how much he'd sacrificed to be with her! His family, his home, his position, his very identity. Without question, Lily was worth any sacrifice he had to make. But these past three days had reminded him of just how much he'd given up for her. As horrible a set of circumstances as this was, as terrified as he was, it felt good to be this Ioan again. Could he stand to let this go, when it came time to leave? What if Dafydd died? Could he afford to walk away, to leave his family and his men when they'd need him the most?

* * *

Cold. Fates, Regina was cold. Part of that was undoubtedly because she'd gone tearing out of the castle in the middle of the night. It was a chill night in late October, and Sora was sprinting quickly enough to whip up quite a breeze; of course she was freezing, despite her cloak.

But it wasn't just the weather. It was Regina's own Chill; the numbing cold that seeped from the deepest recesses of her soul and moved outwards. An outer chill could be cured with a warm blanket and a pot of tea, but the inner Chill was rather more difficult to manage.

She hadn't suffered this Numbness before the Outlands. Prior to her kidnapping, Regina had been of rather an adventurous nature. But since her near-death experience, her temporary but terrifying descent into Madness, and losing Dafydd [however briefly], she had begun to suffer. At first, she hadn't really noticed the perpetual chill; it had been winter, and she'd paid it no mind. But then she and her family had begun to realize that she was always cool to the touch. Dafydd had found that when Regina was in the grips of a nightmare, her temperature would plummet, sometimes to the point of chilling the air around her.

Mirana had diagnosed the problem as Chill. What in the Uplands was a harmless saying— _frozen in fear_— in Underland was a potentially dangerous condition. One could become so afraid that one would literally freeze from the inside out, essentially dying of hypothermia. There was no known cure; all a person could do was try to remain in control of their emotions.

It had been months since Regina had suffered an episode. Before now they'd been primarily at night, and Dafydd had been there. He'd wrap his massive arms around her, enveloping her in his warmth. He was like her own personal furnace; his heat, his pulsing heartbeat, had become the touchstone she used to persuade herself back into calm.

But when her fear was being _caused_by Dafydd, when she wasn't going to be able to lose herself in his warmth and his scent and his strongly beating heart… what could she do then? But she couldn't lose herself in her fear, she had to push on, she had to get to Dafydd and find a way to force him back into health…

She was vaguely aware that Sora had ceased moving, but Regina's muscles had locked; she was shivering severely, and couldn't unclench enough to dismount. She winced as Sora released the screaming roar peculiar to her species, a dry sob escaping her as her entire body cried out in protest. Blast the Trees, it just _hurt so much_…

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Her breath stilled as the Chill got worse. Gwynyth's voice was unfriendly and forbidding, and in the face of her censure Regina was helpless.

"Did you come to gloat?" Gwynyth snapped, glaring.  
"N-No, I-" Regina stammered.  
"You're the reason he's up there right now!" she yelled. "You're always the reason for the bad in his life! Why can't you just let him go and live in peace?"

A pained noise left her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Oh brimini, she couldn't breathe; the air seared her lungs like a thousand ice shards, and the cold inside had become a blizzard.

"Gigi!"

Ioan rushed past Gwynyth, reaching up and clapping warm hands against her cold, pale cheeks. Gently, he forced her gaze to meet his as one hand slid down to rub her arm.

"Come on, Gigi," he said gently. "Let's get you inside. He's been asking for you. We'll get you inside and warm you up, alright?"

Ioan gently lifted Regina down, sweeping her into his arms when it was clear she couldn't stand. Ignoring Gwynyth's disapproval, he strode into the house, humming a lullaby.

"G-Gwynyth…" Regina whimpered, her teeth chattering.  
"Never mind what she said," Ioan said soothingly. "She's stressed and upset, she didn't mean it."  
"Sh-she d-d-did," Regina countered dully.

Ioan sighed, the sound tinged with resigned agreement. Regina buried her face in Ioan's shoulder, both yearning for and dreading the end of their sojourn through the house.

_He's dying, Gigi… I don't know who poisoned him, or how. But it's working fast... if he dies before we can counteract this… I know you'd kill us if you weren't there to tell him goodbye…_

_Please don't die_, she silently begged him. _Don't leave me…_

"Can you get the door?" Ioan asked.

She grimaced in pain as her muscles and joints pulled. But she wasn't about to let something as silly as a door stand between her and Dafydd. So she fought through the pain, leaning down and forcing the knob to turn. Ioan kicked the door open, and Regina got her first look at Dafydd since the Capitulation.

He was deathly pale, with dark, bruise-like shadows beneath his closed eyes. He was shirtless, and his skin glistened with sweat, but he was shivering, huddled beneath the heavy quilt draped over his bed. He shifted restlessly, head moving from side to side as he muttered unintelligibly.

Ioan flinched as his passenger's muscles clenched impossibly further, and the cold emanating from her began to seep through his clothes and into his bones. Fates, he felt like he'd just run outside into the middle of a blizzard stark naked!

"Should I lay you next to him?" he asked. "Warm you up and cool him down at the same time."  
To his surprise, Regina shook her head no. "If h-he… nursing… sh-should b-be beside," she said, her teeth chattering so hard it nearly prevented her from speech.

Ioan nodded, catching the drift of her point. As gently as possible, he settled Regina in the armchair beside Dafydd's bed, wrapping her in a spare quilt before lifting Dafydd's twitching hand and giving it to Regina. He wasn't terribly surprised when Dafydd's fingers latched onto Regina's immediately. Though Dafydd was still twitchy, he stopped muttering to himself with a final, satisfied sigh of Regina's name. Could he sense, even through his delirium, that Regina was there? Ioan didn't doubt it.

Shaking his head at the pair of them, Ioan withdrew, gently closing the door behind him and going to find Rhys. There'd have to be an awful lot of coordination and coercion to keep Gwynyth, and Briallen to some extent, from tearing Regina to shreds.

As the door closed, a head peeked up from the other side of the bed. Regina found herself being scrutinized by a pair of gentle brown eyes for a moment before the Dog rested his muzzle on the bed, close to Dafydd's hand.

"Y-You're M-Madoc-c-c, aren't you?" Regina asked, shivering as she huddled into the quilt. "D-Dafydd's t-t-told me about y-you."  
The Dog nodded, licking Dafydd's hand before looking up at Regina again. "Are you Master's mate?"

Regina laughed, the sound more than halfway a sob. Oh, how she wished… As tears leaked from her eyes, long since blanched silvery white with fear, Madoc crept around the bed. Between Madoc being such a large Dog and Regina such a dainty girl, they were nearly face to face as he snuffled in her neck.

"Mmm. You are his mate," Madoc nodded. "You smell good. I've smelled you on him. Don't worry, Mistress," he declared, sitting and laying his head in her lap. "Master won't leave you."

Regina choked out another sob, lifting Dafydd's hand so she could nestle her face in his palm while she stroked Madoc's silky fur.

For a long time, no more was said. Dafydd lay in his bed, twitching occasionally, though his head had fallen towards Regina and didn't move again. Madoc lay on Regina's feet, lifting his head sometimes to check on his master, or to nudge his proclaimed mistress' knee for affection. Regina sat very still, her eyes trained on Dafydd's face, counting his every breath and heartbeat. Only her hands moved; sometimes stroking the soft skin of his inner wrist and forearms, sometimes reaching down to caress his face and sponge away the sweat.

Fates, Gwynyth was right, Regina cursed herself. This was all her fault. Dafydd had been poisoned while protecting her. Maybe she was only trouble; maybe she should stay away from him. Being in his presence wasn't worth the selfish pleasure if she was only putting him in danger; keeping him alive was more important than her own happiness.

She would give him up, she vowed. If the Spirit of Underland would spare him, she would leave and never see him again. She would marry Jack and forget about her feelings for Dafydd; only let him live!

Swallowing hard, Regina leaned down closer to Dafydd. Still holding his hand, she stroked his forehead, basking in the heat that radiated from his skin as she began to speak.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she murmured. "Once upon a time, a little girl was lost. She grew up in a land far away from home, alone and lonely. To pass the time, she used to dream. She was a princess, she pretended, and someday she would be rescued by a stranger— tall, dark and handsome, riding a white horse and wielding a ridiculously big sword. He would look at her and make her feel beautiful; he would touch her hand and make her feel safe. They would fall in love, and she would learn that he was a prince. She promised herself that someday she would find him, and they would live happily ever after." She drew a deep breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You can't leave me, my prince. I love you so much; you can't leave me. Please, please fight. Don't die."

She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to his shoulder as she surrendered to the tears. Her whispered confession became a mantra, a prayer, a plea, a faint and weak hope.

_I love you… don't leave me… fight…_

* * *

**Author's Note**: My beta has a way of picking the perfect phrase to sum up my chapters. This time it was "Poor Dafydd :(". I couldn't agree more. I mean, I kind of consider this revenge for all the grief he's given me over the course of writing this story. But still, I'm being evil and I'm sorry. (Except I'm totally not sorry.) Just remember, the only thing you have to worry about me not fixing is character death. Oh, wait… sorry, that really wasn't comforting, was it?


	7. Plans and Promises

**Author's Note**: Apologies for how long I've kept you waiting for this chapter. Real life distracted both me and my beta, so between the two of us, this chapter spent a while languishing. I'm making it up to you by giving you something y'all have been waiting for since Book Two, if that helps?

**Special Thanks**: Many thanks to Ranguvar27 for giving this a good beta-ing, even if RL was getting in the way!

* * *

Gregan's favorite time of day at Annwyn was in the early mornings. Before Briallen had to rush off to attend to the manor, before Gregan's tutor arrived to cram more knowledge into his overstuffed head; when the estate still lay relatively quiet and sleepy beneath a sun that hadn't quite risen. Gregan reveled in the stillness, the peace, the privacy; it was in the breathless hush of sunrise when he felt closest to his athair.

In the nearly two years since they'd come to Annwyn, Gregan and Briallen had developed a morning routine. They would wake with the sun and meet in Briallen's parlor office, eating an early breakfast while baby Dai toddled around the room looking for non-edibles to put in his mouth. Most boys his age shunned spending time with their mothers, especially after their Manhood Rites, but Gregan wasn't one of them. He'd already lost one parent; he wanted to keep an eye on the other, make sure she didn't disappear on him, too.

It was their family time; the only time during the day that Gregan saw his mother relaxed and at ease. Some mornings they even laughed; those were Gregan's favorite times of all.

This morning had been shaping up nicely. They were eating squidberry tarts with clotted cream, and Briallen had been telling a story about Niall's boyhood. But then there was a commotion outside; startled exclamations and the strident voice of Gregan's grandmaman. So it wasn't entirely unexpected when one of the serving-men burst through the door a few minutes later.

"Milady!" he panted. "The White Queen's 'ere! She says she's come ta see the Master. Lady Gwynyth 'ad a fit, she did!"

Briallen's eyes fell shut as she drew a deep breath. Gregan could _see_ her petitioning Underland for patience; he'd been the cause of this exact Look on her face many times through his childhood.

"Thank you, Stodgins," she said. "Gregan, if you'd please take your brother to the nursery? I'll go out to the Queen."

Briallen didn't wait to see if her son would follow her command. She immediately stood and headed down the hall, twisting her hair up as she walked. This would be a delicate diplomatic moment, and one which Briallen preferred to handle herself. She loved her mathair-in-law, truly she did. But Gwynyth's prejudices ran deep, and her sharp tongue was legendary. She'd already angered Ioan and Rhys by lashing out at their beloved little Queen; there was no need to antagonize another Royal, especially when this one could actually help Dafydd.

Steeling herself, Briallen walked out into the courtyard, stifling a groan at the situation before her. Gwyn was trembling with rage, clearly glaring at poor Ioan. Because not only the White Queen, but also the White Princess had come to Annwyn. Two Adamasi, one of whom was the reason for Ioan turning his back on his clan and home; no wonder Gwynyth was in a state.

Personally, Briallen was grateful for the White Queen's presence. Mirana's gifts of alchemy were renowned throughout Underland; if she'd come, then that must mean she had a cure for Dafydd. At least her presence here would be useful, unlike that of the younger White Queen. Briallen knew that Dafydd loved Regina, but what possible good was she doing here, other than causing more fuss and bother for them and driving Gwynyth towards an apoplectic fit? Maybe the White Princess would be of some use in that regard; perhaps she could convince Regina to leave.

"Madam, I assure you-" Mirana tried, only to have Gwynyth cut her off.  
"I won't have you anywhere near my son!" she spat venomously.  
"Mathair, that's enough," Briallen said in her very best Banrion of the Nazari voice— which she'd learned from Gwynyth herself, naturally. "Our remedies haven't worked. If the White Queen knows of a cure, I won't refuse her help. And we can't do anything for Queen Regina, either-"  
"Regina's here?" Mirana asked, a shadow of a frown on her pale face.  
"Blast the Trees, did he make her Freeze again?" Lily asked, exasperated, before turning to punch Ioan in the chest.  
"Ow!" he protested, grabbing her wrists.  
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.  
"Because you bloody well know there's nothing we can do about it till Dafydd wakes up!" he retorted.  
"Then I had best get to him quickly," Mirana said. "Madam Briallen, if you'd be so kind…?"  
"Certainly," Briallen nodded, leading the way. "I hope your work won't be hindered by her Majesty's presence. Ioan refused to move her from Dafydd's room, and she seems unable to move by her own volition."  
"Poor lamb," Mirana murmured. "This must be quite a serious attack of the Chill."  
"I wouldn't know. It's a condition unheard-of among our people," Briallen demurred.  
Mirana nodded. "No matter. Regina won't disturb me in the least. Can you describe the treatments you've attempted for Dafydd?"  
"I'll do my best," Briallen said. "I'm not a healer like Gwyn. Many of the remedies she tried were her own invention."  
"I'd love to have the chance to discuss medicine with her, someday," Mirana mused. "From what Ioan's told me, she's quite prolific."

Briallen opened the door to Dafydd's suite, her gaze sweeping the room quickly. Dafydd lay completely still; far too still for comfort. She was quite certain that since Regina had come, Dafydd hadn't moved once. Was it possible that his color had gotten worse? She wrapped her arms around herself in defense against the frisson of unease that flew up her spine. In the two years since Niall's death, Dafydd had stepped up and become the head of their family— a mentor and surrogate father to Gregan and Dai, an anchor and helpmate to her. What would become of them, without Dafydd? Regina had given Annwyn to Dafydd out of guilt for her part in Niall's death, Briallen assumed, but who was to say the Crown wouldn't take the manor back if Dafydd died without naming an heir?

Reluctantly, Briallen tore her gaze away from her brother-in-law to check on the little Queen. Her pale complexion was nearly grey now, and though she was huddled in a quilt she looked utterly miserable. Most frightening were her eyes; a harsh silvery-white that blended almost perfectly with the white of her eye, leaving only dilated pupils. Would Prince Jacoby reign down fury and retribution if Regina died beneath their roof?

In the split-second it took Briallen to assess Dafydd's and Regina's continued deterioration, Mirana had breezed past her, setting her large satchel down on the bedside table. She leaned over Dafydd, setting pale fingers over his temples, his forehead, his cheeks and tonsils. Frowning, Mirana held a jeweled, hand-held mirror to Dafydd's nose and lips, peering into the fog left behind from his breath.

"Oh dear," she murmured, rummaging within her satchel. "Briallen, might Gwynyth have access to the winterlock herb?"  
"I believe she brought some with her from Tearmunn. Let me find her and see," Briallen said, walking out of the sickroom to find her mathair-in-law.

Humming to herself, Mirana arranged her portable cauldron in the fireplace, expertly crushing and blending her medicinals together. As she worked, she kept a close eye on her ailing niece. Regina never once moved; despite the Chill, she wasn't even shivering now. The only indication that she was alive were the small puffs of air, and her fiercely focused eyes trained on Dafydd's face.

Through long practice, Mirana kept her composure, but internally she fluttered with anxiety. Why had Ioan refused to separate Dafydd and Regina? It was obvious that they deeply cared for each other, but wouldn't it be more upsetting for Regina to have to witness Dafydd's suffering when she was helpless to alleviate it? The stress of that could trigger an episode of Regina's Madness, and Tarrant was so very fearful of the effects of Madness on his elder child… In no way did Mirana want to be responsible for telling either Tarrant or Alice that any harm had befallen their beloved daughter because of the actions of Mirana's future son-in-law.

But, it was too late to move her now. Regina was far too Chilled to be carried away, despite the fact that she was clearly beyond exhaustion. Mirana could think of only one solution; fortunately, that would be to Dafydd's benefit, as well.

Mirana looked up as the door opened, forcing a smile onto her lips as Gwynyth entered.

"I have the winterlock," she announced, holding it up. "But I've already tried it, in two separate potions."  
"Has Dafydd responded to any of your treatments?" Mirana asked.  
"I made him a tincture of bitterroot and charcoal," Gwynyth said grimly. "That helped purge the poppy juice, but too much had gotten into his bloodstream before I got it down his throat."

Mirana nodded thoughtfully, adding a pinch of selfease to her cauldron before taking the proffered herb from Gwynyth. She added two small pinches of the winterlock before gently extricating a delicate white flower from a leather pouch.

"This is a snowdrop," she said, carefully holding it by the stem. "An amazing flower, and very rare. As far as is known, it only grows in one place in our entire world— a small valley just north of the White City. Only a few of the plants flower in any given year. But just a few grains of its pollen are enough to cure any poison, even if the patient only has moments left to live."

Mirana smiled at the hope that lit up Gwynyth's eyes. Humming again, Mirana turned to the cauldron, hardly daring to breathe as she ever-so-gently shook the flower in time to her tune. Her keen eyes counted as one, two, four grains of pollen fell into the bubbling brew. She smiled as the potion turned a milky white; success. Hurriedly, Mirana spooned a measure of the liquid into a glass vial, calculating just how much Dafydd would have to drink.

"Madam Gwynyth, could you fetch Rhys, please?" Mirana requested, approaching the bed.

As Gwynyth rushed out, Mirana laid a hand on Regina's shoulder, shivering at the shock of cold one felt in Regina's immediate presence.

"Sweetheart, he's going to be alright," she soothed. "Do you see this potion?" she asked, holding it up. "It'll cure him within hours. And you're going to help."

Regina didn't speak; at this point she was probably too Chilled to even attempt speech. She didn't exactly move, either, but Mirana saw her twitch and shiver, as if she'd attempted to move and her muscles had rejected the effort. Taking that as proof that Regina was listening, Mirana continued.

"We need to cool Dafydd down," she said. "His fever will counteract this potion; it works better the colder the patient is. I want you to lay with him. Your Chill should lower his temperature, let the potion work more quickly."

As Mirana leaned over the bed, the door opened, and Gwynyth re-entered with Rhys.

"Ah, Rhys. Wonderful," Mirana said. "I need you to do some lifting for me, please. Madam Gwynyth, Dafydd will need a good, hearty stew when he wakes."  
"Of course," Gwynyth nodded curtly.

Mirana nodded to herself as Gwynyth left. Good, that would keep her occupied. Gwynyth's joy at Dafydd's recovery probably wouldn't extend to pleasure about Dafydd and Regina laying in bed together, however innocent the action might be.

"Rhys, if you could please lift Dafydd for me. I need to be sure this goes down his gullet," Mirana said.

Rhys nodded, walking to the bed and gently hoisting Dafydd up. Mirana supported his head in one pale hand, gently pouring the potion into his mouth. Closing his mouth, she gently massaged his throat to encourage the liquid down before nodding to Rhys to lower Dafydd back onto the pillows.

"Excellent," Mirana murmured. "Now if you could please lift Regina into bed with him, we can leave them alone for a few hours."

Working together, Rhys and Mirana managed to remove Regina's riding boots, and loose her hair from its braid. Then Rhys maneuvered her into bed, coaxing her stiffened muscles to conform to the new configuration. Through it all Regina didn't speak, but her wintery eyes held gratitude as Mirana gently laid her niece's head over Dafydd's heart. For his part, Dafydd released a contented sigh as Regina's Chilled limbs made contact with his overheated body. And when her head came to rest over his heart, his head moved to compensate, his face burying itself in her hair.

Watching them, Mirana smiled sadly. Jacoby may be her nephew and Regina's Betrothed, but Dafydd was clearly her Beloved. Perhaps Mirana should suggest that the Betrothal be broken, in light of the presence of True Love…

Motioning to Rhys, Mirana silently withdrew, leaving the lovers to their repose. Soon Dafydd would wake up, and then would come difficult decisions and time for investigations. For now, let them sleep.

* * *

Inhale. Exhale.

At first, that was it. Just breathing, and the consciousness that he was doing so. Good. Breathing was good.

It was finally quiet in his head. That was even better.

For so long, such a timeless time, everything had been fuzzy and disjointed, spinning dizzily in flashes that made no sense. It was light, then dark… He was alone, then he wasn't… The world lurched and spun, but everything was still… He was freezing cold, he was stifling, he was there, he wasn't, he was alive he was dead…

But now his head was quiet and clear, and that was wonderful. Since everything was quiet, he cautiously tried using his other senses, unsure if this was a dream state or reality or something in between.

The first sensation was scent; a familiar scent, beloved. He inhaled the honeysuckle and sandalwood deeply into his lungs, instantly feeling better. Whether this was reality or dream, Regina was here, so he was perfectly content to remain where he was. Not as dominant as Regina were the scents of a fire, baking bread, a subtle perfume of grapes… he was home. He was in Annwyn, with Regina. Alright, this was probably a dream then; Regina had never come to Annwyn, despite repeated invitations. Still, this was shaping up to be a really good dream, so he let that slide for now.

Once scent was established, touch was fast on its heels. Warm sheets, slightly damp beneath him; heat, probably from the fire, but tempered with a chill from the bundle he held in his arms, a pressure over his heart. Cool, small, the familiar weight over his heart, the honeysuckle and sandalwood…

"Gia," he breathed.

She was here. Not just in the room, but in his arms. He hadn't lost her, she was here with him. Thank Blessed Underland; the rest was just a bad dream.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, feasting on the vision before him. As much as he hated that Regina still suffered the occasional nightmare, he'd be lying if he said he didn't love those nights— holding Regina in his arms, falling asleep to her breathing, waking up before her so he could watch the sun fall on her peacefully sleeping face.

Fates, she was beautiful. His heart swelled as his hand rose of its own accord and stroked her cheek. All through the confusion and the dizziness, he had been searching for her, fighting to get back to her. Now that he had her here, he wasn't letting her go again. As soon as she was awake, he would confess his feelings, beg her to reconsider the Joust and marry him instead.

He glanced out the window, surprised to see the sun setting, not rising as he'd originally thought. As he glanced around his room, he saw it cluttered with herbs, potions, all the detritus he associated with his mathair and her healing tools. His brow furrowed in confusion; just how long had he been incapacitated?

His attention snapped back to Regina as she shifted, a sleepy murmur emitting from her. He smiled to himself, stroking her face and jaw as she lazily woke. He played with her hair gently, frowning in confusion as he realized the lock of hair at her temple had turned white-blond. Was this a new effect of the Chill? He hoped not; he loved her hair… When her eyes fluttered open, his heart dropped a little to see her beautiful eyes slightly glazed over with the wintry sheen of her Chill. Blast the Stars, he'd never meant to scare her…

She blinked a few times as the last vestiges of sleep released their hold on her. When she focused on him, the icy silver of the Fear began to recede.

"You're awake," she sighed, her voice thick with relief.  
"How long has it been?" he asked, playing with the lock of wrong-colored hair.  
"Three days since the Joust," she replied. "For a while, we were afraid you weren't going to wake up."  
He shook his head. "I'll always come back to you."

He'd meant to say more, but when his eyes locked with hers, the breath was knocked completely out of him. Regina's eyes were melting, from silver to the pure gold he'd only seen a few precious times. Was it too much to hope that the gold meant what he thought it might, that his feelings might not be entirely unreturned?

The moment stretched on, the tension building with each second. His eyes shuttered, his gaze flitting between her eyes and her lips. Ohhh, he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. But that didn't stop him from slowly shifting forwards, giving her plenty of time to pull away.

Regina had thought herself breathless before, but as Dafydd came closer she experienced a breathlessness so profound she was afraid that she would swoon and miss this moment. Could this really be happening? The last time, it had been a reaction, a possession, an instinct born of fear and Madness. But there was no Madness to hide behind this time; if he kissed her this time it would be because he meant it…

His lips brushed hers once, twice, before sealing over hers in a kiss so tender it made her ache. Her hands fluttered on his chest, unsure of where to place them, a dilemma Dafydd solved for her when he folded her in his arms, leaving her with little choice but to slide her arms around him in turn.

A dim memory flitted through Dafydd's mind— blood and fear and fury and Madness, the press of cold armor against bruised ribs, a fear and terror that he would never, ever get close enough to assure himself that she was real. He wasn't sure exactly what he was remembering, only that the sensations were wrapped up in the pounding drums of his Battlelust. But he knew it was real; somehow he'd known exactly what Regina would taste like, how her lips would feel beneath his. And sweet blessed Underland, it was so, so good…

Fates, he could spend the rest of his life kissing her. If it wasn't for the fact that he had something to tell her, he would have no qualms about losing himself in her forever, and never mind about breathing.

Regina gasped, giddy and lightheaded as the kiss changed from sweet and gentle to something more passionate. She whimpered, clinging to Dafydd, helpless against the swell of emotions she barely understood, almost too strong to really feel. She whimpered as he wrenched his lips from hers; no, she didn't want to stop!

"I love you," he blurted out, his forehead pressed to hers.

She stilled, her heartbeat stopping for a moment before an entire swarm of bread-and-butterflies erupted in her stomach. Wait… what?

"What?" she breathed, eyes wide.

He swallowed hard, examining her beneath shuttered eyelids. Alright, she was surprised, but she wasn't pulling away. That was good, he could work with that. And her eyes were still fiercely, brightly gold. That was really good.

"I… love you," he repeated, watching for her reaction.

Regina stared at Dafydd, captivated. His normally sapphire eyes had darkened to a royal purple hue. Despite the Reunification, most of the former Nazari hadn't fully developed the Hightopp trait of eyes that changed color with one's emotions [though the babies who'd been born in Underland did have fully Hightopp eyes]. But even for those adults whose eyes did change, the colors were typically very subtle, unless a very big emotion was involved. If Dafydd's eyes were changing this dramatically, he must be truly serious.

Oh Fates, Dafydd loved her.

Oh, she'd been deluding herself if she'd thought she could actually walk away from him. How could she let him go? She loved him, and he loved her. She could no more forget him than she could forget her name. Dafydd loved her. How could she marry Jack when Dafydd loved her?

"You love me?" she breathed, before frowning and smacking his chest.  
"Ow! Hey!" he protested.  
"You love me and you didn't say anything?" she demanded. "Why did you let me go through with the Joust? We could've avoided all of this!"  
"How could I?" he argued, defending himself. "I had no idea how you felt!"  
"How could you not?" she asked incredulously. "I've loved you for years, you thickheaded idiot! I've spent years pining for you, and you just-"

Whatever else she'd been going to say, it was muffled by Dafydd's lips, and came out only as a needy moan. Dafydd groaned, the noise hitting him at his core. He wrestled with the last of his self-control, fighting not to pin her down on the mattress and claim her as his right there.

With a monumental effort, he broke the kiss, pleased that he wasn't the only one panting and trembling. Cradling her face in his hands, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Dearbadan-de," she dimly heard him whisper through the haze. "Regina, cariad… mo chroi… ma taavi…"

She cooed at the Outlandish endearments pouring from her Beloved's lips, stroking his jaw as she replied in kind.

"Mo laoch," she whispered, pulling him closer. "Mo mhuirnen, chuisle mo chroi… ma taavi."

He groaned, helpless to keep from kissing her again. Was he dreaming? How long had he yearned to hear such words from her lips? _Ma taavi_ was a sacred endearment among their people; a declaration, a promise, words not to be spoken lightly. Could she really be promising herself to him?

He would have kept kissing her, but she jerked away as the doorknob jiggled, sitting up as the White Queen floated through the door, followed by Gwynyth, who carried a tray of food with her.

"Ah, lovely," Mirana smiled, fingers dancing in the air. "It worked right on schedule."  
"Is that stew?" Dafydd asked hopefully, hoisting himself up.  
"It's not much," Gwynyth warned, setting the tray down in his lap. "Mostly broth. If you can keep it down, I'll let you have the vegetables and meat."  
Dafydd made an impatient face. "I hate being sick."  
"Well, next time don't drink poppy juice with your moonflower," Gwynyth shot back.

Dafydd rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his mathair, grinning at Regina as she giggled.

"Don't sass your mathair," she chided him, swatting his chest.  
"Woman, would you stop hitting me?" he pouted, catching her fingers in his. "I'm sick, you should be nice to me."  
"You had me so upset I nearly Froze," she shot back. "You deserve a little abuse. Now shut up and eat your stew."  
"Bossy," he mumbled, though he did turn his attention to his food.

As he reached for his spoon, Regina slid from between the sheets, grimacing as her abused muscles threatened to collapse. Mirana was instantly there, gently urging Regina to let Mirana support her.

"I think you would benefit from a bath," she said, her airy voice leaving no room for compromise.  
"And tea?" Regina asked hopefully.  
"Of course," Mirana nodded.

With a final glance between her and Dafydd and a shared, shy smile, Regina let Mirana guide her out of the room. Dafydd watched her go, not bothering to hide his worry. He'd never seen her suffer this severe an attack of the Chill, and the toll it had taken on her drove home just how dangerous a condition it was.

As the door closed behind the Queens, Dafydd glanced up at his mother, trying to marshal his expression into something resembling calm and sanity. But it was difficult; had he been able, he likely would have been turning cartwheels, or screaming to the skies, or doing a Futterwhacken, or something equally as embarrassing. His mathair seemed to know it, too; though she didn't say anything, there was Knowing in her posture, a silent, amused awareness that both irritated and gladdened him.

"Have I ever told you that you have the worst timing in all of Underland?" he asked his mother mildly as she set the tray in his lap.  
"Yes," Gwynyth said dryly. "But as you always said that when I interrupted you with Afanen, I never minded."

His lips quirked in fond remembrance. No, his mathair had never approved of his… _liaison_ with Afanen. At the time, he hadn't understood that, and had rebelled good and hard against her. Now, though… Now, he had to admit, he didn't know what he had been thinking. How could he ever have given a thought to Afanen when there was Regina…?

Gwynyth seemed to sense the direction her son's thoughts were taking, because she sighed and seated herself in the armchair beside his bed. Thankfully, she didn't attempt to help Dafydd feed himself, but her work-worn hand did raise to stroke the closely-cropped hair at his temple.

"I miss your curls," she said absently.  
Dafydd made a properly outraged face; not this again. "They made me look like a baby."  
"I know," Gwynyth smiled. "For a time, I thought your curls had absconded with your dimples, but I see my fears were unfounded."

Dafydd nodded silently, a faint grin playing on his face as he ravenously dug into his mathair's cooking.

"Slowly," his mother cautioned. "You don't want it coming back up again. I hardly think your little Queen would like that."

Dear Fates, the woman was making him honest-to-Absolem blush. He was twenty-five, she shouldn't still be able to embarrass him as if he were a youngling! If this was going to be her game, he was kicking her out of his house. …Alright, not really. But still.

So engrossed was he in his food and his thoughts that he almost missed his mother's hesitant pause. Almost, but not quite. He wasn't the Ace of Hearts for nothing; no matter how occupied he was, he always noticed the small details. His mathair seemed to be holding her breath to stifle the words that wanted to leave her throat, and her caressing of his hair had become erratic instead of soothing.

"You might as well just say it," he advised her.  
"Ordering your maman around now, are you?" Gwynyth asked, quirking an eyebrow; a gesture he had inherited from her. "You're not too old for me to stretch across my knee, Dafydd."

He didn't reply, apart from a sardonic Look. Gwynyth waited until he'd returned his attention to his soup before she spoke again.

"Do you love her?"

She was hard-put to keep from smiling when he choked on his broth. That would teach her unruly youngest son to sass his mathair…

"Excuse me?" he coughed.  
"You heard me," she said, eying him critically. "Do you love Regina?"

For a long moment, he didn't answer. But then again, he didn't need to. Gwynyth wasn't blind; she had been watching this situation unfold ever since Niall's death. The way Dafydd had clung to the young Hightopp, the desperation in his eyes as he had battled to reach her… the utter possessive brutality in that kiss… The way he had so adamantly and steadfastly stood beside her for the last two years as her Champion… The simple fact that for the past three days, whenever he fell into fevered delirium it had been her name he chanted… No, Dafydd didn't need to say anything; Gwynyth had all the answer she needed.

She wished there was something she could do to change her son's mind. Quite aside from the fact that Regina was the reason Dafydd had turned his sword on Niall… The Nazari mated for life. Once they had given their hearts, that was it; they were bonded and bound until death parted them, and sometimes even after that. Dafydd had given his heart to Regina… But she was going to marry the recently returned Crown Prince. So not only did Regina not want him, but she was going to prevent him from ever having the chance to marry elsewhere and start a family. Dafydd had given all of that to her, but she wasn't going to take it, and Dafydd would be the one to suffer for it. Even if Regina had had nothing to do with Niall's death, Gwynyth could not forgive her for stealing Dafydd's future like this.

"You realize she's Betrothed," she said.  
"For now," Dafydd shrugged.  
Gwynyth raised her eyebrows. "You really think she'll walk away from her crown for you?"  
"Why wouldn't she?" he scoffed.  
"Does she love you in return?" Gwynyth pressed. "If the time comes when she has to choose, will she pick you over her queendom? Would she give up her crown and be content as the Duchess of Annwyn?"  
"There's no reason why she should have to choose," Dafydd argued. "She's the bloody Queen. If she doesn't want to marry Jack, she shouldn't have to. And yes. She loves me. We're going to marry, Mathair, whether you like it or not."  
"But what if you don't?" Gwynyth exclaimed. "What if she doesn't annul the Betrothal? What if she chooses Jack? What happens to you then? You'll be alone, Dafydd. Alone forever, unable to marry, to have a family. All alone, and watching the woman you gave your heart to loving another man, bearing his children. I can't let you ruin your life like that."

She was almost sorry when she saw the happy light leach out of Dafydd's eyes, turning him once again into the serious, shuttered stranger he had become as the Queen's Champion. For a few precious moments, she had seen her lighthearted, laughing baby boy again; the young man that had disappeared when Dafydd met Regina. But now he was gone again, replaced with this too-serious man who guarded so many secrets.

"It's too late, Mathair," Dafydd said simply. "It's her. It's always been her. If I can't have her, I won't have anyone else. I can't give her my heart, because she already has it. She always will. So there's nothing more to be said."

Gwynyth said nothing more; she merely left her son to his tray of food and his thoughts. But as she walked back downstairs, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive. This slight, strange half-Uplandish girl had utterly conquered her son; did she even realize the power she held over him? When push came to shove and the little Queen had to make her decision, would she make the right choice?

* * *

Regina stretched luxuriantly in the chaise lounge, basking in the unusually warm afternoon sunlight like a cat. The book she'd borrowed from Dafydd's library lay forgotten, abandoned in her lap. Her ears were filled with the muted drone of the honeybees and the bright chirping of the Birds; the air smelled fragrantly of rhododendrons and grapes. It was an absolutely perfect afternoon…

Beneath her closed eyelids, Regina rolled her eyes as Dafydd shifted again and grumbled beneath his breath. It _would_ be a perfect afternoon, if Dafydd would just calm down and stop complaining. She understood his irritation; he hated being idle, and the poison had rendered him weak and helpless. He was on the mend, thank Blessed Underland and Mirana's miracle cure, but he'd been warned it would be several days before he would be back to full health. Until then, he was confined to bed rest, a viewpoint upon which Mirana, Gwynyth, Briallen and Regina were all in full agreement. But Dafydd was an absolutely terrible patient, and his enforced idleness wasn't helping.

Regina had suggested this sojourn into his garden as a compromise; he'd still be resting, but at least he'd be outside. By that point, Gwynyth had been so aggravated with her difficult youngest son that she'd readily agreed to Regina's idea. But now Regina was beginning to regret the suggestion; Dafydd's constant fidgeting was making it very difficult for her to enjoy herself and rest.

"Would you please relax?" she asked, not bothering to open her eyes. "Your mathair will send me packing back to Isla Affalin if she sees you in a state like this."

Her eyes were still closed, but she could just _feel_ him rolling his eyes.

"Why does everyone keep forgetting that this is my house, not my mathair's?" he grumbled.

Lolling her head to the side, Regina raised her eyebrows and favored Dafydd with a Look. He huffed in irritation, but he couldn't deny the charge, a fact which made him slouch low on his couch, folding his arms and pouting like a child.

"But she can't send you away," he said. "Because I want you here. If you're not here I _will_ be impossible."  
"Oh, I wish I could stay," she sighed wistfully.

She bit her lip as the gravity of her situation sunk in. She couldn't remain here; she had a country to rule, a Betrothed awaiting her. Fates, she'd managed to forget about that in the wake of Dafydd's confession. But she couldn't glory in her new-found love; she had to return to the bed she'd made.

She jumped as a hand brushed her cheek, relaxing into Dafydd as he sank onto the chaise beside her, supporting himself over her.

"You shouldn't be up," she chided him, gently pushing on his chest. "You're supposed to be resting."

Instead of answering, he leaned down and placed his lips over hers. She melted beneath him with a sigh, reveling in the knowledge that he loved her, that it was alright to show her love for him now. A moment later he pulled away, kissing her forehead softly.

"How can I rest when you've run away from me again?" he asked, playing with her hair, stroking the streak of white-blond at her temple that seemed to be a permanent change.  
She sighed, looking up at him as her fingers twined with his. "What are we going to do, Dai?"  
"Get married?" he shrugged.

She froze, nearly choking on air. What? He couldn't possibly have said what she thought she'd heard… Surely he hadn't just…

"I'm… I'm not a Prince," he said, unusually tongue-tied. "Everything I have, I owe to you. But… everything I have… it's all yours." He shifted uneasily, clearing his throat. "In the Outlands," he continued hesitantly, "when a lad wants to propose to a lass, he has to go out into the desert and search until he finds a rock shaped like a heart, and he has to bring it home to her."

Swallowing hard, Dafydd reached into his pocket. He withdrew the Heart Rock, which he'd bored a hole into and strung on a long, delicate golden chain.

"My heart is as enduring as the rock of the earth, and my love flowers even in the most barren times of my life," he intoned, the words of the ancient Nazari Courting Ritual rolling off his tongue.

Shyly, he looked into her eyes, which were a deeper and richer shade of gold than he'd ever seen them. Encouraged by this very visible proof of her feelings, he continued.

"I'm in love with you, Regina Miraget Hightopp. When this is all over, will you marry me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking.  
Regina clapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes welled with tears. "Yes," she choked out. "Yes!" Laughing, she flung her arms around his shoulders, shivering with pleasure as he kissed her again. "I love you," she whispered. "Oh Dafydd, I love you so much."

He grinned, a bigger smile than Regina had ever seen, and she was struck speechless by how beautiful it was.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" she asked again, as he strung the Heart Rock around her neck.  
"How could I?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You were my Queen. I was your Champion. I couldn't offer you anything."  
"You offer me yourself, which is more than enough," Regina retorted. "As to the rest… that's all still true. So what's changed?"  
"Jack doesn't deserve you," Dafydd growled, possessively pulling her closer. "I might not either, but I won't give you up to a man worse than me."

Regina's heart swelled and her spirit soared, and she pressed her face into Dafydd's chest, dismissing the rest of the world.

"I couldn't have found a better man anywhere in either world," she murmured.

His heart was so full it practically ached as he held her— his Beloved, his Betrothed— safe in his arms. Underland knew he never wanted to leave her; by the Flowers, he wished he didn't have to let her return to Isla Affalin! He wished this first sweet hour of their Betrothal could last forever, that they could always lay her in the sunshine, holding each other, kissing, planning their future. But alas, it wasn't to be; they had things to do, first. Regina had to dissolve her Betrothal to Jack, and hopefully dissolve the Council while she was at it. She must leave, and for now he must remain.

"Fight with me," she whispered, her eyelids drifting open to catch his gaze.  
He smiled softly, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. "We've still got a few flowers to paint together."

He was rewarded by her smile, one which was blissful and shy and accepting all at once. It was, he decided, the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he was helpless to keep from kissing her again.

"Now I really have to go back," she murmured.  
Dafydd pouted. "Now?" he whined, pulling her closer.  
"Well, not right this instant," she amended, laying her head over his heart. "But I have to figure out just how to break a Betrothal, don't I? Not to mention what to do about Jack. Maybe I'll make him a Duke."  
"Maybe you should send him away," Dafydd scowled.  
Regina giggled. "Why? Are you jealous?"  
"Yes," he said simply.  
She beamed up at him. "I love you too."

* * *

Dafydd leaned back in his armchair, frowning as he fought off a yawn. He would never admit his weariness; that would make his mathair far too smug. He couldn't afford to be weak and sick right now; he needed to plan for the next few weeks, until Regina had solved this Betrothal quandary and everything went back to normal.

He sat with Ioan and Rhys at the dining room table, all three of them nursing goblets of the wine that was Dafydd's chief source of income. It was late; Gwynyth, Briallen and the boys had retired hours ago, and even Regina had withdrawn after Dafydd promised to join her soon. He'd tried to send Madoc up with her to keep her company, but Regina had bid the Dog to watch over his master, and to bite him when he started overexerting himself. When Dafydd had tried to protest, Madoc had responded that Master shouldn't disobey Mistress, a statement which had sent Ioan and Rhys into stitches. Sensing he couldn't win, Dafydd had settled in with his cousin and his captain, to have the conversation they'd been avoiding since Dafydd woke up yesterday.

"I don't like it," Ioan said, shaking his head. "He can't just dissolve the Fearail. We don't answer to him."  
"That's why he's labeled us a foreign occupying force," Rhys replied, rubbing his forehead. "I don't like it, it sounds like he's trying to cut Regina off from Witzend."  
"He's jumping in, changing things while Gigi's gone…" Ioan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his scruff absently. "What gives him the right?"  
"He's a Prince of the Royal Blood," Dafydd replied, dangling a hand down to scratch behind Madoc's ears. "And he's Regina's Betrothed. For now."

Ioan raised an eyebrow and gave him a Look, which Dafydd blithely ignored.

"Regina's going to see if there's anything in the Laws about ending the Betrothal," he continued. "We just have to sit tight and hold out against Jack for a few weeks, at the most."  
"You're in a strangely good mood about all of this," Rhys commented. "How can you be alright with having no one protecting Gigi? Especially after you've been poisoned. Who's to say that with you gone, they won't go after her next?"  
"Of course she's protected," Dafydd retorted. "You and whoever else from the Fearail volunteers will infiltrate Jack's guard. Jack himself won't do anything to harm her, he needs her to legitimize his claim on the throne. She has you watching her, and Leferidae; the castle itself is tuned to her safety. She'll be alright."

Dafydd looked up as the door opened, frowning to see the leonine Duke of Tenniel walking into the room.

"Leferidae?" he asked, confused.  
"Good, you're awake," the Red Lion said, lowering the hood of his cloak. "For a while there, you had me worried."  
Dafydd didn't quite manage to keep from rolling his eyes. "Sorry to inconvenience you."  
Leferidae frowned. "Excuse me?"  
"Don't think I don't know how you've watched Regina," Dafydd retorted, smug in the knowledge that Regina had chosen him and not the Lion. "It'd be convenient for you if I'd died, there would've been no one in your way then."

A choking sound beside him made Dafydd glance at his cousin. He furrowed his brow to see Ioan shaking with silent laughter, his face turning red with the effort of keeping quiet. Quirking an eyebrow, Dafydd dismissed his cousin's oddity and returned his attention to Leferidae, to find the Lion staring at him in bemusement.

"My dear lord Duke, what in the blazes are you talking about?" he asked.  
"Oh come off it," Dafydd said impatiently. "You've had your eye on Regina since you met her. I'm surprised you didn't try to propose to her before the Joust."  
"I highly doubt Shadhavar would have approved of that," Leferidae said mildly.  
"Yea- wait, what?" Dafydd said, stopping short.

Leferidae folded his arms, looking too amused for Dafydd's comfort. He didn't answer, merely gave Dafydd a Look and waited for him to put two and two together himself. When it clicked, Dafydd spluttered, his cheeks turning a dull red.

"You and… I…" he stammered, all the pieces falling into place. "But… Zhithene said… the Lionheart King…"  
"Was never meant to be me," Leferidae demurred. "She said Lion_heart_, not Lion_faced_. And now that that's settled, I've come to bring the Queen home. She should return to Isla Affalin before his Highness starts asking questions."

The three Fearail stilled, trading concerned glances.

"Would he?" Ioan asked.  
Rhys shifted uneasily. "If he's exiled her guard? She is his Betrothed. I mean, I'd be suspicious if my Betrothed left our home in the middle of the night to go to another man's manor…"  
"Ahl ag muck a brimini," Dafydd sighed, rubbing his face wearily.  
Ioan whistled, his eyebrows raising. "Language, young man!" he said, sounding eerily like Gwynyth. "I can understand a Blast the Fates or two, but to jump all the way to _that_-"  
"Ioan? Shut up," Dafydd ordered, hoisting himself to his feet. "Rhys, you and Leferidae will bring Regina home tomorrow morning. For now, it's been a long day, and we all need sleep."  
"You really expect me to think you and Gigi are going to sleep?" Ioan asked.

A moment later, he was cursing a blue streak and rubbing the back of his head while Dafydd strode past him.

"And it serves you right, talking about her like that," Dafydd stated. "Where are your manners? Your mathair would have your head."

Dafydd didn't have to look back to know that Ioan had flinched at the mention of his mathair. The woman hadn't spoken to her son in over a year, incensed that Ioan had had the bad taste to fall in love with an Adamas. Mentioning her had probably been a lower blow than Ioan deserved, he mused. But before he could turn around and apologize, he was stopped in his tracks by his nephew.

"Gregan. I thought you'd gone to bed already," Dafydd said.  
Gregan shrugged, glancing around him towards the Red Lion. "The Queen's leaving?"

Dafydd nodded, trying not to feel too depressed about the fact. As he looked down at his nephew, a conversation from a few weeks ago floated through his brain, reminding him of an obligation he still had not discharged.

"Come in here, Gregan," he said, waving his nephew through into the dining room.

With a glance and a subtle tilt of his head, Dafydd silently dismissed Rhys, Ioan and Leferidae. The Men and Lion withdrew quickly, bidding Dafydd and Gregan good night. When the room was empty, Dafydd waved Gregan into one of the abandoned armchairs while he reclaimed his seat and his goblet of wine.

"You're nearly fifteen now, Gregan," Dafydd pointed out, leaning back in his chair. "Have you given any thought to what sort of occupation you might want?"  
Gregan shook his head slowly. "There was never a need, when Da was alive," he said. "And since he died… I've been here, helping Mathair run the manor."  
"And you've done a fine job," Dafydd smiled. "Your da would be proud of you. But don't you think it's time to build your own life?"

Gregan shrugged instead of answering. Dafydd watched him for a moment before speaking, wondering what his young nephew was thinking.

"I think you should go to Isla Affalin for a while," he said. "It's an artisan's town, maybe you'd find an occupation you'd like there."  
Gregan looked up quickly, brow furrowing. "You're kicking me out?"  
"Not at all," Dafydd said quickly. "But you're a man now, Gregan. You're of age to strike out on your own, make your own life."  
"But I want to stay here!" Gregan exclaimed.

Dafydd sighed impatiently; this wasn't going the way he'd planned.

"Gregan, you've seen nothing of the world," he tried to reason. "How can you know what you want to do?"  
"You did!" Gregan argued. "As soon as your Rites were done, you were off training as a Hassasseen! You knew what you wanted, and you were younger than I was. I want to stay here!"  
"Give me a year," Dafydd bartered. "Spend a year with the craftsmen in Isla Affalin. Or even six months there, and six in Tearmunn. If you still haven't found an occupation by then, you'll come back here and that's the end of it."  
Gregan huffed, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. "This isn't fair," he muttered.  
Dafydd bit back an impatient huff of his own, trying not to let his irritation leach into his voice. "I'm trying to do the best thing for you, Gregan."  
"You're not my da! You haven't been home in years, how do you know what's best for me?" Gregan burst out.

Stunned, Dafydd had no retort. Before he could answer, Gregan stood and ran out of the room, leaving him alone with the dying fire. Sighing heavily, Dafydd fell back in his chair, his arm dangling down to pet Madoc.

"That didn't go well," he sighed.  
"Give him time, Master," Madoc said, licking his fingers. "Gregan will come around."  
"I hope so," Dafydd muttered.

After a moment, he shook his head. He had enough to worry about right now; he had to trust that he'd made the right decision and that his nephew would come to appreciate it in time. Rubbing his forehead, Dafydd stood, banking the fire before motioning to Madoc. He only had a few hours left before Regina left for Isla Affalin; he didn't want to spoil them with worrying. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow.


	8. Bound in Nets

**Author's Note**: This chapter gave me trouble at every stage of its existence. When I was writing the first draft, this was the point that I realized I needed to expand the story from a trilogy into a quadrilogy. During the second draft, when I was prepping for posting, I had to scrap practically everything I'd written, and start over from scratch. Needless to say, this chapter and I don't get along very well. I hope you enjoy it more than I do.

**Special Thanks**: As always, a million thanks to Ranguvar27 for beta-ing for me.

* * *

Fog hung low in the air, damp and chill. It had been cold enough last night that the ground was covered in a silvery frost. In consequence, the gardens looked ethereal and not quite real; more like a dream than an actual landscape.

The grey, somber environment suited the two people who had retreated there, preferring not to make their goodbyes in front of an audience. There was hope in their eyes, warm enough to combat the chill of the pre-dawn cold, but there was sadness too, grey and crushing as the dim light.

As if on a silent signal, Dafydd and Regina stepped forward, seeking shelter from the internal grayness which seemed more oppressive than the chilly morning. As she rested her head over her Beloved's heart, Regina let loose a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her very soul.

"Don't be so sad, dearbadan-de," Dafydd murmured, stroking her unruly ginger curls. "It's only temporary. Long enough to chase the False Rabbit back to the Fox's den. If you hurry, we'll be together again before the Hogmanay."  
"Mmm, that would be a good birthday present," Regina agreed, tilting her head back to look her Betrothed in the eye. "And then we'll be married by Guid Nychburris?"  
"If that's what you want," Dafydd nodded, a sunny grin breaking out over his face.  
"It is," Regina nodded, a rosy blush spreading across her cheeks. "I think we've waited long enough."  
"Then you'd best get back," Dafydd said, reluctantly releasing her.

Regina nodded, taking a step back as she drew a steadying breath. She reached up, drawing the hood of the cloak Leferidae had brought her over her head. On impulse, Dafydd leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, unable to keep from stealing one last one.

"Oh! I almost forgot," he said, reaching into his pocket. "This belongs to you."

A big, beautiful, beaming smile broke out over Regina's face as Dafydd opened his fist to reveal their Ring. She shivered as he slid the Ring back onto her left ring finger, losing herself in a Daydream of Someday. Someday, he would slide another ring onto her finger, and vow to love and honor and cherish her, to walk beside her as husband and partner until their Time was up. Someday, he would be her husband and her King, and they'd never be separated again. That was a Day she couldn't wait for.

"I love you, ma taavi," she murmured.  
He grinned, kissing the Ring and then the back of her hand. "I love you too, cariad. Now go. We'll be back together soon enough."

Regina nodded, drawing strength from her Beloved's words. He was right, they would be together again, but they would have to be the ones to make that happen. As much as she loved him, they would be no closer to ever marrying if she didn't leave and go take care of Jack.

_Soon_, she promised herself as she lifted her skirts and walked towards the carriage, turning away from Right Now to chase Someday. _We'll be together soon_.

As Regina approached her carriage, she watched Briallen step back from Gregan as he hoisted himself up to sit next to the driver. Dafydd had told her earlier this morning that his nephew would be accompanying them to Isla Affalin, in order to find an apprenticeship among the artisans of the capital city. Judging by the barely-concealed anger and resentment in the glance he tossed at her, Regina guessed he wouldn't be her guest at supper anytime soon. She sighed unhappily; she hated that she couldn't make Dafydd's family like her.

Putting it aside, she turned her attention to Briallen and Gwynyth. Raising her chin in defense against the chill unfriendliness in their gazes, she swept them a shallow curtsey.

"Madam Gwynyth, Madam Briallen," she addressed them. "Thank you for your hospitality and care. I leave Dafydd in your capable hands."

Gwynyth sniffed and pointedly didn't answer. After an awkward moment, Regina rose from her curtsey, fighting not to fidget with her hands.

Briallen was the one to break the tension. "Safe journey, your Majesty," she said, with only a hint of reluctance.  
"Thank you," Regina nodded, before taking Leferidae's paw and climbing into the carriage.

If this was how she was going to be received by her future mother- and sister-in-law, perhaps she shouldn't return to Annwyn, she thought despondently. They were unhappy enough that she existed; perhaps she shouldn't rub her happiness with their Dafydd in their faces.

As Rhys performed one final check of the small guard Leferidae had brought along with the carriage, and then made sure that Regina's Panther Sora was also ready to leave, Regina turned her attention back to Dafydd. He held her gaze, a faint smile dancing on his mouth. She smiled back, holding all the warmth and strength and confidence he'd instilled in her close to her heart. They would make everything alright, she promised herself, and then they would be married and have their happily ever after. All she needed to do was get out of one little legal snafu; how difficult could that be?

She pressed her fingers to her lips, raising them in farewell as the carriage and guards lurched to a start. She held Dafydd's gaze until she couldn't see him anymore, and then she watched until Annwyn was but a speck on the horizon. When she turned to face Leferidae, she caught his knowing gaze and nodded.

Now the work began.

* * *

With a sigh, Gregan finished putting the rest of his clothing away in the armoire. Shutting the doors, he turned back to survey the guest quarters he'd been allotted for the duration of his stay. As the nephew of the Queen's Favorite (and how his ears had burned when he'd heard the Courtiers whisper _that_! He really didn't need to know anything about the Queen's relationship to his uncle), Gregan had been afforded a suite that, while not immense, was certainly larger than his room back in Annwyn. He had a bedroom, a small bathroom, and a living space-cum-office, as well as his own valet, a Suit with the rank of Four.

The opulence left Gregan feeling distinctly uneasy. What in Underland's name did he know about Court manners? He was the nephew and presumed heir of the second-most powerful Duke in the queendom, but he himself had no title. Was he supposed to stand in as some sort of proxy for Dafydd at Court functions? Fates, what was he doing here?

Agitated, Gregan paced through his living space, running a hand distractedly through his hair. He knew why Dafydd had sent him here; he was supposed to be finding an occupation of some sort. But why in the blasted Queen's name had Dafydd sent him _here_? Was this a punishment of some sort, being sent into the care of the woman who'd usurped Dafydd's rightful place as heir to the Hightopp chief? Regina was nothing but a usurper who'd stolen Dafydd's attention away from his people; why was he here, living under her roof?

Well, he admitted grudgingly, maybe that was Dafydd's play. If Gregan found a profession, that would get him out of Regina's castle quickly enough. If that was the case, then his uncle was diabolically clever, and Gregan didn't appreciate it.

Well then, what did he want to do with himself? What was he good at? He couldn't really think of anything. He knew how to survive in the Outlands, but that was hardly a necessary or profitable set of skills anymore. He had no interest in blacksmithing, or really in being a warrior. He knew nothing about being a Lord, so staying at Court was out of the question. He knew some of his kinsmen in Tearmunn were re-learning the artisan crafts that had made the Hightopps famous; could there be something for him among the cobblers, tailors, or jewelers? Glassware, perhaps, or carpentry?

Maybe carpentry, he thought, throwing himself into an armchair. He'd carved himself a crude flute out of a fallen tree branch once. It hadn't played all that well, but he'd enjoyed the process of smoothing the wood, carving the holes, hollowing the center. When he'd finished the flute, he'd gotten to play around the fire with a few of the men of the Nazari who still remembered how to make music. He hadn't been very good, but he'd enjoyed the music they'd made, the way their separate melodies had woven and blended together to create something new, something that was all of them and yet separate.

His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. Jerking back to reality, Gregan leapt to his feet, crossing to the door. Before he could get there, the Four neatly sidestepped him, opening the door for him. Gregan blinked in confusion at the Four before remembering that he wasn't at home; he was at Court, and that apparently meant that he didn't get to do anything for himself. Frowning in irritation, Gregan returned his attention to the man who stood on the other side of the door.

"Hello?" he tried, unsure who this man was or why he was here.  
"Good afternoon, young Master Hightopp," the elegantly dressed gentleman said, stroking his silky moustache. "Welcome to Isla Affalin. I trust your journey was pleasant?"  
"I, uh… yes?" Gregan said, the statement coming out as a question.  
"Excellent. I am most glad to hear it," the man nodded, before he seemed to remember himself. "I apologize. I am Baron Vulpez," he said, sketching a shallow bow. "I am one of Queen Regina's Council, and a friend to your uncle the Duke. He asked me to keep an eye on you and aid you in any way I can."  
"Oh. Um… thank you," Gregan said uncertainly, stepping aside to let the Baron into his rooms.  
"Are you quite comfortable here?" Vulpez asked, glancing around. "These rooms seem somewhat meager for a Duke's nephew."  
"No, they're fine," Gregan shook his head. "I don't expect to be here long, anyways."  
"Ah yes of course, your apprenticeship!" Vulpez exclaimed, smiling. "My lord Duke was most anxious that you find an occupation that you'd enjoy."  
Gregan rolled his eyes in sudden irritation. "More like he wanted me out of Annwyn before he married Regina," he muttered beneath his breath.

He missed the sudden crafty light that illuminated the Baron's shrewd, beady little eyes.

"You must be mistaken, Master Hightopp," Vulpez said calculatingly. "Why, the last time I saw your uncle, our conversation was exclusively about you and your future."  
Gregan shook his head. "If he was so worried, he would have done something about it sooner," he said. "I mean, I could've said something before now; I went through my Manhood Rites a couple of years ago. But he's the head of our family, it's his responsibility."  
"Well tell me, Gregan, have you given any thought to what you might like to do for an apprenticeship?" he asked silkily.  
"I was thinking… maybe carpentry," Gregan said. "Or music."  
"Ah!" Vulpez smiled. "Well, Isla Affalin is a fishing city, but I would be happy to look into finding some woodworking Masters that you could talk to. As far as music is concerned, our Court Composer Maestro Figaro is a wonder. He hails from Oversea, from High King Kalen's country of Jumphasor. Allow me to arrange a meeting for you."  
"Thank you," Gregan said. "That's… very helpful."  
"Not at all, young sir," the Baron smiled. "I made a promise to your uncle, after all, and I am a man of my word. Now tell me, lad, and don't be embarrassed. Have you had much formal education?"  
"I, er… no," Gregan admitted, flushing slightly. "Living in the Outlands, that wasn't exactly the most important thing to us."  
"Of course, of course," the Baron nodded. "Hardly surprising. Why, even our Queen was in desperate need of instruction, when she first came home. In fact, she is still under the supervision of her tutor. Well, I'll tell you what. I can arrange for a tutor for you- very quietly, of course. You can learn your letters and numbers at the same time as your trade. How does that sound?"  
"Could I learn weaponry too?" Gregan asked. "I don't really want to be a soldier, but… My people, war was our trade for centuries. My father…" Gregan swallowed past the lump in his throat. "My father and uncles were all trained as warriors. I'd like to be, too."  
"Of course, my lad!" Vulpez enthused. "Quite a sensible decision, if you ask me. You may be out of the Outlands, but you still need to know how to defend yourself. And in any case, you are a Noble now, and should be trained as such. Leave all the arrangements to me, Master Gregan."  
"Thank you, for all your help," Gregan said gratefully. "If there's ever a way I can repay you-"  
"Repay me? Dear boy, this is my pleasure," Vulpez demurred. "Call me your friend, and that will be repayment enough."  
"Absolutely," Gregan enthused. "And if there's ever anything I can do for you-"  
"You are a generous sort," Vulpez smiled indulgently. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see to obtaining those tutors for you."

As Baron Vulpez left, Gregan smiled to himself. Dafydd had never really spoken very highly of Baron Vulpez, calling him— among other things— a slithy tove of a Jubjub bird who wanted nothing more than to sink his talons into Regina. But it would seem that Dafydd was wrong, Gregan thought with satisfaction; the Baron was going to handle everything to ease Gregan's way in Isla Affalin. A father couldn't have done more for him, and this was certainly more than Dafydd had ever done. Well, with the Baron's help, Gregan would show Dafydd that he wasn't to be ignored.

As he walked down the hall away from the young Hightopp's rooms, Baron Vulpez smiled to himself, mulling over the golden nugget of information the lad had so carelessly revealed. So Dafydd and Regina intended to marry, did they? Well, wouldn't Prince Jacoby be interested to learn that… If Regina was planning to break their Betrothal, the Prince would have to move quickly to counter her, or all would be lost.

* * *

Regina sighed as she lay listlessly in bed, the early morning sun filtering through her bed curtains and weakly trying to warm her face. She made a face, burying her face in the pillow; oh, she didn't want to get up yet. She had never been an early riser, and she had gotten very little sleep last night.

After returning home from Annwyn yesterday, Regina and Leferidae had retreated into the Library and immediately started pulling books from the shelves, looking for anything that might be useful to help them build a case for the breaking of her Betrothal. They had worked for hours, but frustratingly, so far they hadn't found much of use. Regina had brought the few books that had looked promising back to her chambers, and instead of being social and having supper with her Court, she had ordered a tray brought up to her room, and spent the evening flipping through dry, boring legal documents.

Admittedly, keeping her mind on her task would have been much easier, had she not been constantly distracted. Every few moments, she would absentmindedly finger the chain around her neck, and the Heart Rock would obligingly slip into her fingers. Once she had it in her clutches, she invariably lost herself in daydreams— what it would be like to be married to Dafydd, what colors they should use for the wedding, how soon they might have a child. Really, it was very hard to focus on the present moment when the future loomed so large and wonderful.

She hadn't quit for the night until the moon hung high in the sky. And even then, she had only given in because she'd fallen asleep over her book. She hadn't bothered to call Clover or Azalea to aid her; the medieval-style gowns she preferred were easy enough to get out of without help. She hadn't bothered to wash her face or change into a night robe; she'd merely fallen into bed in her shift, and had been asleep before her head hit the pillow, already lost in another dream of Dafydd.

Regina would have liked nothing better than to lay in bed for a few more hours, but alas, it wasn't to be. Jack had sent her a note last night, requesting her presence at breakfast so they could "begin to get to know each other." Despite how much Regina wanted to ignore the invitation and return to the legal books, she knew it was a good idea to oblige Jack. After all, it behooved her to stay on his good side; there was no need to antagonize him in the short time he'd be around. Besides, she wanted to make a study of him; perhaps if she found his strengths and weaknesses she could adapt to use them to her advantage.

_Fates, I'm turning as scheming as Mama and Aunt Mirana_, she thought.

Sighing resignedly, Regina rose and yanked the bell pull, stretching luxuriously as Azalea walked through the door.

"Good morning, lamb," she said, bobbing a quick curtsey. "You're up early this morning."  
"I'm supposed to have breakfast with Jack," Regina yawned.  
"Oh, that's right," Azalea nodded. "Clover told me he'd summoned you. Rather high-handed of him, if you ask me."  
"Perhaps," Regina shrugged. "In any case, this would be a good time to take his measure, keep on his good side."  
"A saganstitute thought," Azalea admitted. "Well then, let's make you a sight to behold, shall we?"

Regina nodded, standing and wrapping herself in a robe as Azalea headed into the dressing room to find an appropriate gown for this meeting. Regina frowned and hurried into the room after her when she heard Azalea's startled gasp of dismay.

"What is it?" she asked.  
"The armoires," Azalea said unhappily. "They've eaten all your clothes!"  
"What?" Regina asked blankly.

But she didn't need Azalea to explain when she looked into her armoires. All of her gowns, everything she had worn as the Plum Queen… they were all gone. Even her beautiful Queenmaking gown had disappeared. Regina let out a small noise of distress; how on earth had this happened?

Both women startled at a loud, sharp _rat tat tat_ on the door. Clover's quick tread sounded over the floor, and when the door opened two pairs of mincing footsteps passed through the main chamber into Regina's dressing room.

"Good morning, Majesty!" the foppish man trilled, as several servants poured through the door.  
"Who in the name of blessed Underland are you?" Regina demanded, clutching her robe closed. "Who are all these people?"  
"Taylor Crosstich, Majesty, at your service," the man said, bending in a flowery bow. "I am a tailor from Lower Siddington. His Highness Prince Jacoby summoned me to serve as the new Court Tailor."  
Regina blinked in confusion. "I believe there's been a mistake," she said blankly. "Arianrhod Hightopp is my Seamstress."  
"Apologies, Majesty," Taylor simpered. "But now that you and the Crown Prince are Betrothed, the Court is to be reordered. That's always the way, you know."  
"I see," Regina said slowly. "Why wasn't I consulted?"  
"I believe your Majesty was away from the palace at the time," Taylor said delicately.

Regina traded glances with her maids. So Jack had taken advantage of Regina's absence to start effecting changes in her palace? High-handed, indeed.

She could object, she supposed; kick up a fuss until someone brought her clothes back. But what good would that do? She would look like a spoiled brat, and it wasn't Jack's fault. He was only behaving as he believed a future King should. She could put up with a new wardrobe for a few weeks.

"Very well," she decided. "Show me what you had in mind."

Within a few sketches, Regina had detected two very large problems. Her heart stuttered in her chest, stopping for a moment before going into double time. Her head swam, and her hands began to shake as memories came flooding back. Hot, slick, gushing, spurting…Staining her hands no matter how she tried to wash them… Hers, his, theirs, all blending together…. The slash of a blade, the slice of a dagger, enemies turned to dust, brothers turned into enemies…

"No," she shook her head, falling headlong into panic. "No, no, no. Absolutely not."  
"Your Majesty?" Taylor asked, raising eyebrows that had been plucked within an inch of their lives. "What is the matter? I realize the skirts are rather shorter than what you're used to-"  
"If the skirts come down to my knees, I can deal with them," Regina babbled. "But all of these clothes are red."

Azalea and Clover moved quickly. Clover jumped up, ringing for a tea service to be brought to the Queen immediately, while Azalea grabbed Regina's cold hands, rubbing them briskly in an attempt to draw Regina back into calm.

"Why, yes. Of course," Taylor protested. "You are the Queen of Hearts!"  
Regina shook her head hard, blinking back tears of distress. "Clearly you haven't done your research, Master Crosstich. I do not wear red. Ever."  
Taylor made a moue of displeasure. "This isn't about that silly fallacy that redheads can't wear red, is it? Because that is the most ridiculous argument-"  
"Young man," Azalea interjected. "The Queen has spoken. If she says she will not wear red, that is the end of it. You can either redesign your clothes, or be dismissed from service."

Taylor sputtered for another moment before drawing a deep breath and nodding stiffly. Clearing his throat, he returned his attention to Regina.

"My apologies, Majesty," he said stiffly. "If red doesn't suit, perhaps white would be acceptable?"

Regina shuddered, clutching Azalea's hands and trying to copy her maid's calm, even breathing. For a long moment she ignored the tailor, fighting for control. No one was going to force her to wear red. She was still Queen here, and her word was still law. When she'd returned from the Outlands, she had forbidden anyone in her Court to wear the color that still triggered such a strong psychological response. She couldn't blame Jack for suggesting that the Queen of Hearts should be garbed in the color of blood; he didn't know. She was in charge of her own wardrobe; she could dictate what colors she would wear.

It took a long minute for Taylor's question to resonate in her brain, but when it did click, she made a face in displeasure. Oh Fates above, how she hated the color white. For eighteen long years in London, she'd been surrounded by never-ending shades of the color; it represented everything she loathed.

"Just because I'm a White Queen doesn't mean I wish to constantly be wearing the color," she said.  
Taylor frowned. "But your Majesty, what other color could I use? His Highness thought it better that your attire not remind the people that you are… well. Not a native Crimsian," he finished delicately.  
Regina looked at the tailor incredulously. "I am the Queen of Crims. What does it matter that I was born in Witzend, if the Heart Itself has chosen me to rule?"  
Taylor held up his hands in surrender. "I am only repeating what the Prince said to me."

Regina harrumphed, but drew a steadying breath. _Just for a few weeks_, she reminded herself. She could play Jack's game for as long as it took to break their Betrothal. She hated white, but she could tolerate wearing it. White was better than red.

"Very well, then," she sighed. "White. But there had better be accent colors."  
"Yes, of course," Taylor said unctuously. "What colors did your Majesty have in mind?"  
"Not red," Regina retorted pertly. "Green, perhaps, in honor of the pastures further south. Purple, for our vineyards."  
"Ah yes, I see! Colors to honor our country's natural beauty and trade wares! Oh, how clever," Taylor enthused. "Yes, I do believe I see what your Majesty means…"

By the time Regina and the Tailor had finally come to an accord, breakfast had come and gone, and it was nearly lunchtime. Regina had sent a Page to Jack, making her excuses for breakfast in light of the Tailor's visit, and the two Royals had agreed to meet for luncheon. Once the Tailor was finally gone, Regina released a huff of appreciation, and turned her attention back to the empty armoires.

"I thought he'd never leave," she sighed, cracking her neck. "What a lickspittle toadie he is!"  
"He was rather unpleasant," Azalea conceded. "But at least he's gone now."  
"Aye. But the problem remains," Regina said, motioning to her empty armoires. "What on earth am I supposed to wear to lunch?"  
"Maybe… let me check…"Clover mused.

Moving quickly as always, Clover dashed into the antechamber where Regina's off-season clothes were stored. After a few moments of rummaging, she released a cry of triumph, and exited the closet dragging a large wooden trunk behind her.

"The armoires didn't eat these!" she exclaimed. "You might be a little chilly, since these are your summer gowns, but they're better than walking around the castle in your shift!"  
"Oh, thank heavens," Regina sighed. "I can just send to Mary and ask her for a shawl."

After dressing in the light, gauzy summer gown (which was defiantly purple), Regina reluctantly removed the Heart Rock from around her neck. It was probably best to keep her Betrothal to Dafydd a secret, at least for now. But she didn't trust anyone enough to leave the precious pendant behind, either. Tenderly fingering the stone, she slid the necklace into her pocket, where she could be sure it would remain safe.

As she checked herself one final time in the mirror, the door opened to reveal Afanen. Startled, Regina whipped around, staring in shock at the woman.

"Afanen? What are you doing here?" she asked in disbelief.

Afanen's face was neutral and polite, except for the slightly sour look about her mouth as she dipped into a shallow but respectful curtsey.

"I've been created the Duchess of Tearnan Beo, your Majesty," she announced. "By order of the Prince. He wished for you to have companions."  
"It seems Jack's been doing an awful lot of ordering about," Regina said drily. "It's just as well we're to have lunch; we can discuss all these changes."

Without waiting for Afanen to reply, Regina swept past her out into the hall, trying to control herself. Ooh, this was unpleasant. She _hated_ Afanen, and she knew the feeling was mutual; their few interactions at Tearmunn had proved as much. Why should she have to suffer the woman under her own roof?

The Suits opened the double doors to Jack's suite as Regina approached. Drawing a deep breath, she fisted her skirts and walked forward, raising her chin and drawing on all the training Lady Ascot had beaten into her head. _Firm, but not angry; conciliatory but not weak-spined_, she silently recited. She and Jack needed to have a discussion about what he'd done, but after all he would only be here for a few weeks, until she found a way to break their Betrothal. She could deal with this tactfully and gracefully.

As she walked into Jack's reception room, the Prince stood, smiling in welcome. "Good afternoon, Regina," he said, setting down the book he'd been perusing. "I trust your morning was productive?"  
"It was… interesting," she said carefully.  
"I'm glad to hear it," he nodded, before taking her arm. "I've arranged for us to eat in here today. I thought we might be more at ease getting to know each other if there weren't a dozen people milling about."  
"Of course," Regina nodded.

She walked with him compliantly as he led her towards the table, which had been arranged near the glass wall. He escorted her to her seat with perfect chivalry, waving away the servants and serving her himself. He chose a selection of cold fruits to compliment their roasted flamingo, smiling crookedly as she insisted on preparing them an iced tea to accompany the meal. She chose her ingredients and spices carefully; she didn't know Jack well, but she hoped that the blend would put him at ease, relax the calculating watchfulness that always seemed to surround him.

"I hope to make this a daily tradition," he remarked as they began eating. "I expect most of our meals will be taken apart; we should see each other informally at least once a day."  
"Do you expect to be away so often?" Regina asked curiously.  
"Not away, per say," Jack shook his head. "But it's a lot of work, ruling a country. I think we'll both be busy."

Regina nodded, acknowledging the point and silently thanking Jack for providing her with such a good opening for the discussion she wanted to have. Before she could introduce the topic, however, Jack spoke again.

"Though I can't regret being hard at work in a castle as lovely as this," he commented, glancing around. "I like what you've done with the palace. It's certainly an improvement over Salazen Grum."

Regina paused, tilting her head slightly. Well, this was rather unexpected. However, she was curious about Jack's childhood; surely it couldn't hurt to delay the more serious conversation to learn a bit more about this man.

"Thank you," she nodded. "What was it like, growing up here?"

Regina knew the stories of her parents' experiences within the former Queen's palace, of course, but neither of them had ever been very forthcoming with the details. She couldn't blame them; Alice had nearly lost her head here as a child, and Tarrant had been held prisoner in the dungeons twice. Still, she was remarkably curious about her predecessor and the way she had led her Red Court.

Jack shrugged, his eyes unfocusing slightly as he remembered. "Always a game of chess with my mother," he recalled. "The palace was very dark, and twisted about like a maze. It was very easy to get lost, and to be found somewhere one wasn't supposed to be. It was fun when we were younger. My brothers and I would spend hours playing Run and Fetch… they call it Hide and Seek, Above," he clarified, his eyes darkening with memories and sorrow. "Primus and Secundus tried to hide in the castle when our dear mother decided it was off with their heads."

Regina's hand fluttered to her throat, her heart clenching at the thought of her doomed cousins. What must it have been like for the young princes and princesses, to know that their mother had gone Mad and was demanding their heads? She couldn't even imagine the sort of terror they must have felt, the desperation to hide, the sorrow that they had to hide from their own mother.

"The palace didn't hide them?" she asked. "I should think the Heart-"  
"The palace answered to my mother, and none other," Jack shook his head. "It'd do anything she asked of it. They tried to get to a Looking Glass. The castle just twisted itself around and led them to the dungeons."  
Regina gasped in horror, feeling ill. "I'm so sorry, Jack," she murmured.  
"My father smuggled me out of the castle that night," he continued, his eyes far away. "Ordered Vulpez to put me through a Looking Glass. He promised he'd get my brothers and sisters, and they'd all meet me on the other side." He broke off, staring down at his plate without seeing it. "That was the last time I ever saw him."

Despite herself, Regina felt herself moved to pity for Jack. What a lonely, frightened life he must have led in the Above, always waiting for his family to return to him, slowly watching his hope dim and fade away. She set her glass down and reached across the table, laying her hand on his. He took it after a moment, curling his fingers around hers.

"Some days, I thought I would never get back," he confided. "Those weren't good days. Sometimes, I swore I could see a glimpse of home through a Glass, and I would hope and dream that I would come home and find them all safe, and Mother back to normal."  
"I… I'm sorry she's dead," Regina said.

She shifted awkwardly in her seat, ruminating on Iracebeth's fate. It was uncomfortable, knowing that her family was indirectly responsible for the death of her Betrothed's mother.

Jack shook his head, squeezing her fingers. "Don't be. I'm not," he said bluntly. "She ceased to be my mother when she killed my brothers and sisters."

Regina nodded, biting her lip. She knew what it was like, hating one's mother. She wondered if Jack hated himself too, feeling disloyal for hating the woman he was supposed to love above all others. Did it tear him in two, to be so angry with his mother?

"Anyways, it was a long time ago," his voice cut into her thoughts. "We can start over."  
"You've already made quite a start," Regina commented. "I confess, I was a little surprised to hear of everything you'd done in my absence."  
"But not displeased, I hope," he said, serving her some devilled Jubjub eggs.  
"I… no, not exactly," she said carefully. "I just wish you had included me in those decisions."  
"I would have, if I'd had any idea where you'd gone," he reasoned. "If I can't find you, how can I ask your opinion about anything?"  
"You could have waited until I got home," Regina pointed out.  
"I didn't know how long that would be," Jack retaliated. "I couldn't let the government come to a standstill, just because you'd disappeared. We should be seen as strong rulers."  
"No, I know," Regina said, shaking her head. "I just… I would rather we make these decisions together. If we're to rule together, we should consult each other. Like with my wardrobe."  
Jack frowned. "What was wrong with Crosstich's designs?"  
"I'm sure in your time they're perfectly lovely," she hastened to say. "But I was brought up in an earlier time than you were, and those clothes… they'd be horribly improper. Even a harlot wouldn't dress so."  
"What do you propose, then?" Jack asked.  
"A compromise," Regina said. "Master Crosstich and I already discussed a few options to combine the sensibilities of our two times. As Time runs on I'm sure I'll learn to be more comfortable in the new fashions," she fibbed.  
"I see the sense in that," Jack mused. "I keep forgetting about the time disparity between us. My apologies."  
"Of course," Regina nodded. "I suppose we'll each have a lot to get used to."

They finished their lunch amidst more polite conversation. As soon as she was free, Regina headed straight for the Library. The more she heard from Jack about his plans for the future, the more determined she became to find a way to break this Betrothal. From what little he'd said, many of his ideas for Crims did not match with hers. It was better for all if this Betrothal was broken before it was too late, both for them and for Crims.

* * *

Sunset was crashing down upon Isla Affalin tonight, pouring down in relentless, violently gorgeous shades of fiery orange and blood red. The dying sunlight poured through the glass walls of the palace, illuminating the entire castle. As Jack leaned back in his armchair, he again silently thanked Regina for the redesigned castle; it was much easier to appreciate Crims' stark beauty from within a palace of glass.

He reached an arm over to the side table, absently picking up his teacup. Today had gone well, he thought. Taylor Crosstich had reported that Regina had gone into a panic when she saw the designs for her wardrobe, and she apparently hadn't approved of Afanen's elevation to the nobility. But, making Regina unhappy was necessary for his plan, and also fun.

Besides, every time he angered her, he discovered another of her weaknesses, which gave him one more weapon to use against her and her supporters. He had the feeling he was going to need every tool he could get his hands on to combat the feisty little Queen. True, she had been docile during lunch, for the most part. But from her words and actions when she wasn't in his presence, it was clear that she wouldn't take a power exchange lying down. She was, after all, the daughter of the Mad Hatter and Alice of Legend; a Champion begat of Champions. It wasn't in her nature to submit.

No matter. He had plans for breaking her, and would have fun doing so.

His thoughts drifted back towards his study, where sitting on his desk was a small mountain of books and old scrolls he'd brought back from the Library. Though his main plan to incapacitate Regina was falling into place, it was still risky, and he wanted a backup just in case she didn't respond the way he expected. This secondary method was archaic, but the old laws concerning it had never been reviewed or repealed, so it was legal for him to do.

Granted, he couldn't implement this secondary measure immediately. He needed to gather supplies first. But that was alright; the most natural and unsuspicious time to implement Phase Two would be during the engagement ceremony. He was certain that Regina could cause a great deal of chaos before then, but with Phase One in place to keep her controlled and powerless… Yes, everything should go smoothly.

He heard the door open quietly, but he didn't turn. He hadn't been expecting anyone, but he knew who it was; only one person would dare to interrupt his solitude after he had explicitly expressed his desire to be alone. She was lucky she was such a good lay, Jack mused; otherwise, he would've disposed of her long ago.

"You didn't even knock," he commented without turning.  
"I didn't think you'd mind," Afanen replied. "We have a problem."  
"Oh?" Jack asked, cocking one eyebrow inquiringly.  
"While Regina was at lunch with you, I did some poking around her study," Afanen said, supremely unconcerned that such an act could be considered treason. "She's researching ways to break a Betrothal."  
"I see," Jack said slowly, stroking his chin. "That is upsetting."  
"What are you going to do?" Afanen asked.

Jack thought for a moment, considering his plan carefully before glancing up at her.

"Has the Doctor made any progress with those recipes?"  
"Overall, he says that the ones in your mother's book are stronger, but harder to make and keep stable," Afanen reported, glancing down at her nails. "I still say that I could make what you need more quickly-"  
"You have enough to do," Jack cut her off dismissively. "I've told you before, they can't trace back to you. We're doing this by my rules, Afanen."  
Afanen rolled her eyes in impatience. "I've already told you, I'm not going to betray you. You did make me a Duchess, after all."  
"As a reward for good behavior," he warned her. "That means no more accidents."

Afanen blinked innocently, though the look quickly slid off her face as Jack leapt to his feet and wrapped a hand around her neck, squeezing slightly.

"I mean it," he growled in her ear. "I know you put that poppy juice into Dafydd's cocktail for your petty revenge. You won't make that mistake again, will you?"  
"No," she gasped, scrabbling at his hand.  
"Swear," Jack pressed her.  
"I swear," she choked out. "I'll do as you say, I promise."  
"Good," he snapped, releasing her.

Afanen coughed, tenderly massaging her neck as Jack moved away, folding his hands behind his back and looking out the window.

"I have Regina's measure now," he said softly; Afanen was unsure whether he was talking to her or to himself. "She'll do whatever she deems necessary in order to remain Queen. I'll pull on her strings until she's hung herself." He turned then, glancing at Afanen dispassionately. "The Doctor has nearly filled his storehouse, hasn't he?" When she nodded in confirmation, Jack nodded once. "Start dosing her tomorrow."  
"And when she's out of the way?" Afanen asked meekly.  
Jack smirked darkly. "Then the real fun begins."

Jack smirked as the clearly shaken Afanen quickly scurried off. Yes, sooner or later all of his puppets would learn that they mustn't cross the Puppetmaster. He was the one holding all the strings; he would decide when to dance his puppets across the stage and when to cut their strings. And if any of his puppets made a bid for autonomy…he would either tighten their strings, or cut them from the show.

* * *

Regina made a face of displeasure as she stepped out of the carriage, self-consciously smoothing the skirt of her new dress. It wasn't ugly; in fact, the cut of the bodice was actually quite flattering. But still, Regina had been a child of an era in which one's legs were always completely covered, so she felt rather naked in the knee-length skirt. But she wasn't going to complain; she only had to put up with these fashions for a few weeks. A few weeks, and then everything would go back to normal.

Glancing up at the overcast sky, Regina shivered, shifting from foot to foot as she rubbed her bare arms. In the nearly two weeks since the Joust, the weather had taken a sudden and unwelcome swing towards winter. The skies had been grey and overcast for over a week now, and the temperature had dipped accordingly. Oh, why hadn't she thought to bring a wrap with her today?

"Here," Lily said, removing her shawl and wrapping it around Regina's shoulders. "If you turn into an icicle before we get you inside, Tarrant will never forgive us."

Regina smiled gratefully, huddling into the shawl and soaking up the residual heat. Ioan extended one arm to Lily and the other to Regina, and the three of them merrily made their way into the Cerulean Castle.

"Thank you both for coming with me," Regina said, glancing at them. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."  
"Of course! We should've stayed after the Joust," Lily frowned, poking Ioan.  
"Hey!" Ioan squirmed. "They needed time to themselves."  
Regina scoffed. "Please. I only see him once a day, unless there's a banquet or evening entertainment. We're still mostly strangers."  
"How odd," Lily frowned.  
"If I was Jack, I'd be hanging around you all the time," Ioan added, grinning lecherously, then yelping as Lily and Regina both slapped him.  
"You're ridiculous," Regina chided him, laughing.  
"But right!" he grinned, steering the ladies inside. "Where is Jack, by the way? You didn't say this morning."  
"Oh, he said he had some business to attend to in town," Regina shrugged, disinterested. "He's quite interested in the ways Crims has changed since he left. I expect he's off exploring again."  
"What about Afanen?" Lily asked curiously, wrinkling her nose.  
"I haven't seen much of her either, thank the Stars," Regina sighed in relief. "For all that Jack wanted Duchesses to keep me company, the only one I spend time with is Mary."  
"Well, Mary's the only one with the right sort of nonsense in her head," Lily replied.

By the time Regina had stopped giggling long enough to voice her agreement, Ioan had steered them into the greenhouse in the rear of the castle, where Tarrant had arranged for their Tea Party today. As they rounded the Dandelion bush and the table came into view, Regina's eyes lit up in delight. She had no eyes for her athair or brother, nor for the three state ministers sitting around the table; she only had eyes for—

"Dafydd!" she exclaimed, dropping Ioan's arm and racing for her Betrothed.

Dafydd looked up from his tea with a grin, standing and meeting her at the foot of the table. By the time they'd realized that they'd reached for each other, their fingers were entwined, and Dafydd was stroking the Ring that sat on Regina's finger.

"What are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly, a huge smile on her face. "I didn't think your mathair would let you stir from Annwyn!"  
"She wasn't happy with me," Dafydd admitted, grinning unrepentantly.  
"But you're alright?" Regina pressed, her glorious smile fading a little as she checked him over.  
"I'm fine," he assured her, squeezing her hands and pulling her down to sit with him.

As he watched them from the head of the table, Tarrant smiled to himself, though it was tinged with sorrow. He'd known that the separation from Dafydd would be difficult for Regina, that whatever she said about moving on with her life it would pain her to let her dreams of Dafydd die. But now, seeing the two of them together…Something had changed, he thought to himself. The way they leaned in towards each other, the smiles on their faces, how completely animated Regina was, the way their fingers were still twined… Even in the days before the Joust they had never behaved quite like this before. Had Dafydd _finally_ declared himself? For Underland's sake, Tarrant certainly hoped so; he'd had just about enough of his daughter's pining. He still wasn't ready to let his wee little boy go, but he'd be content seeing her happily married to her Outlandish prince.

He used the excuse of having to mind his son to keep an eye on his elder child. The more he observed her, the more curious he became. He understood that Regina was happy to be home, and clearly ecstatic to be reunited with Dafydd. But was it just him, or did she seem a little… _manic_ in her excitement? She had yet to stop grinning like a Cheshire, and her gesticulations were rather larger than Regina was wont to use. And she was hardly paying any attention whatsoever to her tea; all her focus was on Dafydd, and whatever in the Cat's name they were discussing over there.

Or perhaps he was merely overanalyzing, he rationalized. Regina had been terribly stressed lately, with the Joust and Dafydd moving away from Isla Affalin and being Betrothed to Prince Jacoby. Perhaps she was merely blowing off steam, and he was a worrywart of an old man making a tempest in a teapot. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, he admitted to himself ruefully.

"Clean cup, clean cup! Move down!"

As the Tea Table Tango began, Tarrant allowed himself to forget his cares. If Regina needed his help, surely she would come to him. Until then, he would try not to worry.


End file.
